


Dangerous Simplicity

by MaryLaine



Category: Ylvis
Genre: M/M, Murder, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryLaine/pseuds/MaryLaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the brothers became lovers, their lives morphed into the complicated mess their relationship was. Fighting with their inner demons as well as trying to figure out what is right, away from the prying eyes of the world, they got tangled in their decisions, all of which eventually led to a murder. </p><p>Behind every murder there's a story, but how does this one involve the lives of Ylvis?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

The flashing beams of red and blue came as quite a contrast to the cold, dark night. The man who awaited the police stood by a window that faced the street, watching the cars approach, slightly blinded by the sudden brightness. He stood nearly completely motionless, and appeared to be so shocked that, in some twisted reality, his eerily unresponsive state could be interpreted as indifference. But he wasn’t—of course he was not indifferent. He had called in to report a murder that had taken place in his home, telling the police he’d found a dead person lying on his living-room floor upon arriving from work. No, he couldn’t be indifferent at all. To say that he was stunned would have been an understatement.

He remained frozen in his spot even when an officer approached him. The only thing he could allow was a nod when he was asked whether he’d been the one to report the murder. Given his situation, though, the men who came to inspect the scene of the crime decided it would be best to stay aside for a short while, at least until they had to take him in for questioning. His shock was obvious and the time required for it to wear off even more so. Besides, he couldn’t get away even if he wanted to; the house was now swamped with officers and, moreover, he had no reason to do that. He was not a suspect as of yet, but only a witness of the gruesome act the detectives were just beginning to investigate. ~~~~

The house had been completely dark before the police had arrived, but now every light was on and cameras flashed all over in addition. It didn’t take long for the violence of the crime to be unveiled; the victim lay dead on the wooden floor in perfect display, the head resting on the edge of an expensive carpet. It was obvious without any forensic expert confirmation that the lifeless body had been severely beaten before, whoever the murderer was, had decided to make the two determining stabs in the chest. There was blood all over; the body lay in a dark, sticky, red puddle. However, there were no signs of struggle of any kind; the whole thing must had happened in a matter of moments on that very same spot. The killer must have had the sole intention to take a life, and the victim hadn’t seen it coming.

There was a knife that was unavoidably the murder weapon. It was found right next to the victim—obviously the murderer had not even attempted to get rid of it. The detective who had first spotted it wore a half-smile; were this case to proceed at this pace, it wouldn’t be long before another convict would be caged behind bars.

None of all that was bizarre, really, not in the sense of an obvious homicide at the very least. What was extremely unusual about this scene, however, was not the dead body in the middle of the flawlessly decorated room, but the flowers surrounding it. Or rather, it was rose petals, evenly spread around every inch of the lifeless person, as though to by some means honor the dead. It was a curious circumstance to be sure. But despite the inevitable observations, not much else could be concluded at that very moment, except, of course, that it was a disaster of enormous proportions and it would be all over the news the following day.

After a while it was time to head back to the station, and the chief of the squad went over to the man by the window, in an attempt to engage him in conversation once more. “Sir, you have to come with us to the station, tell us everything you know about what happened,” he spoke all but fiercely, but the man remained silent, expressionless. The officer gave him a few more moments, in hopes that the man would come through and begin to react in any way he could manage, but in vain. An exhale of irritation followed.

It seemed to finally work. As though snapping back to reality, Bård’s gaze flickered at last, and he turned over to the lawman next to him. He didn’t say or do anything, instead just stared at the man as though he was waiting to be told what to do.

“Mister Ylvisåker, I advise you to just step into our vehicle peacefully—we don’t want any trouble. But we do need your testimony, we need to know how you entered the crime-scene and you need to tell us everything you know about what happened.”

Their eyes locked and the necessities were clear. A particular tension seemed to permeate the air; there was no running away from this—there couldn’t be. Bård nodded for the second time that night, fully understanding that he could not ignore the situation any longer, not even for a moment, no matter how much he wished to escape this dreadful event. He might have been shocked, but of course the investigation had to go on and he had to do what was told. It was all beyond his control by then. Had he remained in his stubbornly still position any longer, the police would have unavoidably arrested him and would perhaps even have counted him as a suspect. He couldn’t refuse to cooperate. Bård was well aware and knew that the consequences of doing otherwise were ones he could not allow. The horrid ache he felt all over would have to be ignored and he would have to stabilize himself in order to help the detectives. It was really as simple as that; he had to pull himself together.

And so, wordlessly, he began to make his way out of the house, and the officer followed behind him at every step, almost too relieved. It did not happen every day for a simple lawman like him to have the opportunity to deal with a famous person. In a way, he felt, it was his duty to present his best performance as of yet.

Soon, the entire house was empty again, exactly as it had been before the murder had happened, save the bloody mess in midst of the usually pleasant room, and people exited together with the victim. It was surreal; Bård felt like he was watching a lousily shot movie, with scenes that lasted far too long to be interesting and were not even nearly thrilling enough to make a good show.

It was going to be a tough night, but Bård reasoned to himself that nothing could get worse than what had already happened. He would simply have to relive the horror, to talk about it, but he could handle it. He had to. Put in the backseat of the car, he at last remembered the letter he was clutching in his right hand. Smashing the piece of paper in between his sweaty fingers, he pushed his hand in the depths of his pocket. Leaving what could be counted as some sort of evidence hidden in his jacket against his better judgment, the man let out a long sigh.

He would get through this, but he couldn’t shake off the small voice within him, the one that whispered that there was only one person who could help him pull himself together. He needed Vegard, and he needed him badly, just as well as he knew he couldn’t give in. He wouldn’t allow himself to be weak and to seek his brother out just now; his shallow pride would in no case permit that.

All he wanted was to get away from this horrible, horrible night.


	2. One month earlier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters will all switch back and forth through time, always before or after the murder described in the prologue. The titles should clarify the period of time the contents refer to. I hope it's not too confusing. :)
> 
> Now, I better post this before I read it for a yet another time and start to hate it!

 

One month earlier;

 

It was too hot of a day to get any work done.

Actually, the weather was inconvenient for just about any kind of activity, but to the greatest extent possible, it was _definitely_ too hot to work. Especially when one had to go through defined dance routines that had already been repeated enough times to be boring, and even more so when one had to work alongside a persistent, stubborn, arrogant little brother who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, even when he knew better. But younger siblings are, in a way, bound to push limits, and that was exactly what Bård was doing. He was dangerously nearing the end of Vegard’s nerves, illuminating his own reluctance to think of anyone but himself when even the least bit upset.

It was too hot of a day to work and Vegard was pissed off.

Undoubtedly, though, he could pin his distress on just about anything at that point, but it felt so agreeable to blame it all on a factor he could not alter. He often prided himself in being a calm, patient man, although he refused to discuss feelings until he could no longer escape such a responsibility which seemed to annoy people, but he was far from a saint. He had well-defined limits that shouldn’t be crossed. When it came to Bård, however, he felt compelled to extend his nerves even further to serve the sole purpose of avoiding a fight that was, by now, long overdue. A fight that could by all means destroy much more than the relationship between the two. It could potentially shatter his entire life, and if the cost of keeping his feet steadily on the surface of the road that promised a bright future was his shallow pride and mental persistence, then he’d certainly play his cards with all stakes in.

Above all, Vegard believed himself to be a reasonable man. And respectably so, as opposed to the younger man who never went out of his way to preserve their exceptional bond. Vegard knew he had to rely on his unconditional love for his brother, even if it had to be a battle of clutching on to the last string that held them together, because knowing Bård, he wouldn’t move a finger to help.

But Bård could be too damn pushy sometimes—he really was. Vegard ought to snap, _but not just yet_ , he told himself. There was still time. It could get even worse. And it was, after all, a particularly hot day and that was what he worked to focus his irritation on. Wiping away the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, he let out one heavy sigh. A clock was positioned on the wall slightly too far away and the man made a few steps forward to take a better look. Reaching a spot that was only barely satisfactory, he squinted his eyes and attempted to decipher the digits. His sight could never have competed to be his best asset.

_15:37_

It would only be foolish to snap now, Vegard convinced himself in that instant. He could handle the little brat for thirteen more minutes, now couldn’t he? They’d have to leave then, they’d have to hurry. It was an interview they couldn’t afford to miss and their ridiculous fight would have to be put on hold. Bård wouldn’t dare to open his babbling mouth in front of other people. At the very least, he wouldn’t speak of the things he was now throwing at Vegard, and without a doubt he wouldn’t risk granting an opportunity to enlighten neither their colleagues nor strangers of what troubled the brothers the most. Bård’s shallow pride did stretch to an extent to keep such a secret to himself—he knew better than to let his anger voice the unbrotherly relationship between the two in front of the entire hearing world.

Vegard wasn’t even listening anymore, actually. His mind travelled elsewhere as he blocked out the sounds that came from his younger brother. For the umpteenth time, he tried to picture what life had been like before it all happened. Before Bård had kissed him. It was only months ago that everything was normal, but it felt like a much longer period of time had passed since then. He felt such a reality slip even further away when he remembered that he had not run away from his brother’s intentions. It was his own doing just as well. He had kissed him back, of course; he had not expelled his own desires. At first he was convinced he was in love, an emotion so unordinary and powerful that it piloted his every decision, and then when his senses came back he believed it was an illusion he’d been pressed into, only to eventually settle in the notion that he simply had to keep playing along in order not to hinder the flow of work between them. He was on a stable platform himself, but he could predict what an abrupt end would do to his little brother. And so he tied his shoes and skipped over the bumps.

But it had become too much. Bård was _needy_. He began to ask for more than could be granted. Not even when Vegard flinched after some ridiculous offers would he stop. A creative mind ought to have downsides, and the scenarios the younger brother had imagined where their relationship could work out were beyond silly dreams. A secluded cabin somewhere in the woods where they would survive by the glorious strength of their passionate love. A beach-house on an island no one had ever heard of, heading off on midnight swims, enjoying the sight of their sun-kissed bodies. The very next suggestion could easily have been escaping to a spaceship that sought shelter on Mars, had Vegard’s patience survived any longer. These scenarios inhibited Bård’s mind to an extent where he became obsessed with them. Luckily, Vegard could see through them; he was not blinded by whatever it was that shielded the younger man from rationality. And he had put an end to it, despite knowing the possible—most definite—negative outcomes. He put an end to the wrong relationship they once shared, which was no painless task, but at least he was certain to be doing what was right.

Bård wasn’t convinced, however, nor would he allow to be overthrown from the throne of the one who had the last say. And he was angry as well. It wasn’t the weather that bothered him, though, not like his brother’s silence did. “Vegard, I know you’re not listening to me,” he announced half-defeated, half-annoyed, eyeing his brother with the sole intention of catching his gaze. His voice echoed throughout the spacious premises and yet was not sufficient to capture the attention of the man it was directed towards. They’d been in the theater for about seven hours and he had had enough. He _needed_ a response.

However, half a minute and no reply later, he kicked aside the chair that was in front of him for the routine he was practicing, as it was conveniently in his way and a perfect excuse to announce his foul mood, and cursing under his breath, he began to make his way to the dressing room. It was the absence of the repetitive monologues that reminded Vegard to take another glance at the clock, and he saw it was 16:03, already three minutes since he’d been legally permitted to call it a day. Well, almost. Steering himself to the dressing room where his brother already was—although had been able to encounter a substitute location he would have gladly gone another way—he stumbled over the fallen chair but steadied himself quickly enough. Shaking his head in dismay but not uttering a word, he proceeded to take the steps that would place him in the same room as the man he wished to avoid most of all. He had endured him for approximately seven hours already, but apparently, the punishment his brother had sentenced him to would require him to pay a price far greater still.

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” Bård accused the second Vegard walked in through the door.

The dark-haired man stopped mid strut, and allowed his eyes to fall on those of his brother. His plain look of ignorance spoke enough to begin with. He had barely opened his mouth to throw a question when the younger man spoke again. “You forgot,” was his simple statement.

Vegard looked a little perplexed as he tried to rewind his memory for a recollection of whatever it was Bård had asked from him. In a split second of desperation, he concluded that it could have been just about anything, but he recovered quickly from the momentary panic; he was a man who did not wish to avoid responsibilities under no excuse and old habits die hard. Nothing would come to mind, though. Sheer blankness was what his tired mind struggled with, but at the same point he wondered if his brother was bluffing to win his attention at last. “Forgot what?” he eventually allowed.

Bård rolled his eyes in a rather irritated manner and turned away. He was practically naked save his boxers, and so proceeded to get dressed, taking hold of the jeans that were closest to him; he had a selective number of those where he stood. He made Vegard wait for a response as he lazily reached for a shirt. Flinging the piece of clothing over his head, he heard his brother make a few steps towards his own spot of the room, signifying that he would not play Bård’s games. The younger man knew it well, but nevertheless he was not pleased. Swiftly turning around, he quickly relocated Vegard and shot him a glare.

“I texted you to pick up the costumes,” he nonchalantly offered an explanation at last.

For a moment, Vegard looked surprised. “You did?” he wondered sincerely, and hurried to unlock his smartphone. It took him seconds to see the aforementioned text message, and Bård had indeed asked what he claimed he had. He’d been too focused on work and avoiding his brother to even look at his phone. After rereading the words a second time, Vegard took a quick look at the time he’d received the message. _8:17_. A sigh of frustration was unavoidable. “You knew I was already in the theater at eight. How did you expect me to drive halfway across the city to do something you were too lazy to?” Vegard didn’t sound annoyed nor angry. He was simply tired of this and as much as he let himself falter in order to avoid the result of a two-sided argument, he knew he had to draw a line somewhere.

“Oh come on, Vegard, the tailor is on your way. And I wasn’t lazy, if you must know. I had something else to do this morning.” Bård felt confident as he spoke, and he no longer looked at his brother. His gaze was fixed upon his own reflection in the mirror and he made a scene for pushing his hair back. “We’re fucking colleagues, after all. Or did you decide to quit on that too?”

Vegard scoffed and ignored the last remark. “Something else to do?” he cited sardonically. “What, may I ask? Oversleeping and being late for work like every other day?”

“I didn’t oversleep and—“

“Whatever, Bård,” he interjected impatiently. It was quite unlike him to be so seditious but it was really too hot of a day to keep a straight mind. And he was tired. He was very tired. “I don’t care what you had to do,” he voiced his sarcasm clearly, pushing the subject to what he wished to be known; “and the tailor was not on my way at _half past eight_. Do you know _why_ , Bård?”

The younger man was about to pipe in with a retort, but Vegard was too quick.

“Because I was already at work! Because unlike you, the rest of us don’t find it difficult to appear here on time, _every_ fucking day! But we aren’t as grand as you though, are we?”

Bård finally turned to look at his brother once more and he, in a way, was pleased. It was not something he went out of his way to hide, either. He had finally managed to spike some conversation out of Vegard and that was enough for the moment. A barely contained smirk took over his features when he said rather calmly: “Oh shut up, Vegard. I _really_ had something more important to do.”

Vegard almost spoke back, but he stopped himself on time. He knew better than that, nothing good could possibly come out at this point. He wasn’t prepared to take the fight any further and he wouldn’t allow himself to be pushed into it. Raising his hands in a form of surrender, he shook his head and turned around, determined to ignore the other presence in the room from now on. But such a task seemed impossible, he soon realized.

“So you’re not gonna ask? You don’t want to know what I had to do?” Bård’s small voice resonated how clearly he felt offended.

Vegard decided that if he refused to reply it could only get worse. Without spinning around, he mumbled a content “No, not really”.

And now Bård was definitely even more infuriated; his shallow pride could only take so many blows. Despite knowing it would show his weakness, he couldn’t stop himself from asking straight away: “Why not?”

Another sigh evaporated from Vegard; there were too many of those to be counted on this particular day. Slowly and rather cautiously, he spun on his heel only to barely look at his sibling. “I don’t want to fight,” he stated calmly, patiently and quite determinably.

There was single moment of nothing but silence. Vegard almost thought he had finally managed reach something in his brother. Almost.

“Then fucking talk to me like a normal person, for fuck’s sake!”

Bård had shouted it rather vigorously, a hint of desperation escaping him but he could no longer hold it inside him. It had been a week since Vegard had ended it—their relationship—a bloody week of almost no conversation between them and a lot of spiteful glances instead. It was a first for what felt like such a long time that Vegard even spoke words addressed to him at all. Bård would not allow this opportunity slip through his fingers. His eyes glistened in anticipation as he awaited a proper reply, but in vain.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bård,” the older one attempted to prevail in his exhaustion, without much success though. Bård was headstrong. Making a couple of steady steps forward, they were now parted by only a meter and Vegard found himself holding his breath unconsciously. His heart took up a race by the so suddenly created, immediate proximity, quite involuntarily, and he cursed himself inwardly for being so weak.

“Please, Vegard,” whispered the blonde man, gently and tenderly; “think things over. There’s no going back either way. What’s the point in denying what we feel?”

Vegard avoided any eye contact. Bård had a point, certainly, but he wouldn’t be convinced. No, he had his own ground to stand on and he would not walk out on his carefully thought-out decisions. “We talked about this. Can’t you understand, Bård? We can’t do this, we… we can’t be close like that.”

“So _you_ say,” insisted Bård and began to move a little closer to his brother, a new kind of glimmer in his eye.

Suddenly, Vegard looked up properly, cautious and a jolt of alarm detectable in his gaze. “So _I_ say and so our _father_ says.”

Bård scoffed; his warm breath mingling in the limited air between them. “Don’t try to pin this on what _he_ saw. So what—he believed us when we told him we were drunk. He said—“

He was cut off.

“Don’t be a fool. Of course he didn’t believe—“

“Just listen to me, Vegard,” he interrupted his brother in return before he could say anything else that could derail the focus of his own point. After all, he had finally been gifted the attention he had yearned for. But he had no wise words, not really. “We’ll be more careful, alright? No one has to know. No one.” By this point he had placed a hand on Vegard’s shoulder, the other one coming critically close to his chin. A curl fell on Vegard’s forehead as he fought to stay expressionless.

“Bård, stop,” he warned.

“Vegard,” the younger man was now whispering. “Please don’t do this.”

There was a moment of silence, a moment when their locked gazes shared heaps. But it was only a moment. Without saying anything else, Vegard turned away abruptly and before too long he stormed out of the dressing room. The entire argument was now washed off by their closeness; it was amazing how it only took Bård’s nearness for Vegard’s reason to be wiped to oblivion, he even admitted it to himself. An inner gratitude overwhelmed him as he had somehow managed to grasp to the little comprehension that had remained in that short confrontation. And now there was boiling anger replacing everything.

He had forgotten about the costumes; he made a mental note to remind Bård to pick them up the following day, once they’d be surrounded by other people of course. Bård ought to behave then. As he made his speedy steps down the hallway, his mind planning out the shortest route to his car, a small reminder sneaked into his thoughts to tell him there was something else too. The reason Vegard had left as hastily was not because he felt repelled by his brother’s actions. No, not entirely. And it wasn’t because he could no longer fight. It was because he knew that it wouldn’t take much for him to give in again, and that was something he would certainly not allow.

Their father had seen them together and that was the magnet which pulled them back to the ground. It wasn’t until then that Vegard estimated the full potential for damage their little affair could cause; he had been blind and careless. It wasn’t until their father had shouted his words of disgust, of dismissal, his claims that he no longer considered them his sons that he recalled that life was, nonetheless, real. That things had real consequences. The father had come around after a couple of hours, though, when he realized that he couldn’t tell their mother—it would have broken the loving woman’s heart. It was an irrevocable agreement that they would never speak of it again. Of course, there could be no reprise. The brothers knew what was at stake.

And yet, Bård was reluctant to put an end to it even when Vegard had done just that. He remained stubborn, firmly tied to his belief that they were somehow meant to be together, that their love could not be replaced, or whatever it was he kept claiming. Vegard no longer cared if he was being honest. He simply needed to put the mess behind him, he needed to get back to normal and he needed some space. Exactly what his little brother refused to permit.

Now Vegard was pissed off even more, and he no longer blamed the weather. But it wasn’t just that; there was an undeniable sadness that began to overwhelm him, taking over his senses. He had no conscious intention to hurt his brother. He was simply acting according to a well thought-out logic, to a rationality that seemed more reasonable than any aspect of what they had done. Everything had been so perfect; they were the perfect colleagues and siblings, best friends even. And then they screwed up, and there was no going back. And yet Vegard felt like he had to be the one to find a loophole—one much unlike those his brother suggested, of course—to forget it all and just find a way to pretend efficiently that nothing had ever happened. To proceed with his life like all was normal. If only Bård would cooperate…

His train of thoughts was momentarily stopped. There was that girl again. Vegard was exiting the theater when he spotted her. She held a smartphone in her hand and pretended to have not noticed him, but he saw her. What, did she sleep outside wherever Bård was? Vegard couldn’t even remember the amount of times he had seen her hanging around, failing to camouflage herself as a random person. He tried to be decent and nice to his fans, he really did. But this one was just exceeding all limits, and he‘d had those of his pushed too far on this particular day. And at that point, he was utterly positive she knew—the girl who followed them around had to know of their relationship. He was not pleased in the slightest at the sudden realization.

“Just leave us alone and go home!” he shouted at her for no outwardly apparent reason, and when she looked at him as if he had completely lost his mind, he shut himself up and stormed away before he could cause any more damage. Rushing to his car, his mind fought to think of ordinary, day to day things normal people would be bored of, but of course his head rotated back to anything involving Bård. And then an image of the girl he had escaped seconds ago flashed. Of how he had actually managed to frighten her. He stopped to consider the possibility that he might be headed down a road of insanity.

It was too hot of a day to work, and Vegard needed to cool off before he showed up at that interview they had scheduled.

 


	3. Two and a half months earlier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some smut and a self-conscious Bård.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope no one thinks the updates come too soon; it's like I can't write anything but this story!

Pulling Vegard inside the hotel room, Bård slammed the door shut and pinned his brother’s body against it with urgency. It was an efficient and easily done task, a glimpse of what was now becoming a habit. He wouldn’t waste a split second, now that they were finally isolated from the prying eyes of the crowd Calle had gathered to celebrate his engagement; his mouth was already nibbling and leaving trails of wet kisses at the exposed skin of Vegard’s neck, who was too immersed in the feeling to even do something to return the immeasurable pleasure. Being drunk did not help either of them at that as well, they were skidding out of control, and as Vegard slowly began to come back to his senses, he pushed the younger man in the straight direction towards the bed. Pauses along the way were necessary in their clumsy steps, however not very affordable from the viewpoint they shared. Their legs tangled in a fashion they did not contrive, yet somehow accomplished a barely steady balance.

Fortunately, their similar fuzzy thoughts and clouded heads dismembered any chance of questioning what they were doing, or rather pondering whether someone could have spotted them both enter the same room, and that certainly bought them a lot of time. They only cared about one thing at this point, and it was to be as physically close to one another as possible. 

A jolt of lust was spread in the atmosphere around them and for these few hours they had grasped to spend together in this manner; it felt as though they were separated from the entire world and thrown into a little prefect reality that existed only for the two of them, alone. It was space and time where their joint, immense emotions were not forbidden, nor judged. They had their own personal precautions, to be sure, but those did not blend with what the rest of the world would find unacceptable--disgusting even. They never fit in the popular beliefs of what was right or wrong, anyway. And they felt safe, disguised and most importantly happy in each other’s arms. There was nothing to threaten their love in this suspended room. It contained only the two of them, after all, and they agreed on this one particular development of their relationship irrevocably.

In their wordless agreement of the night they managed to end up in the double-sized bed, Bård’s body sprawled in the midst of the soft covers with Vegard on top of him. It was now Vegard who was planting kisses on Bård’s neck, collarbone, shoulders, pushing the texture of the shirt aside, eager to expose as much flesh as he could. Bård had his head pushed back deep in the fluffy duvet, his cheeks burning as he struggled to suppress his moans and sharp gasps when Vegard would show his less-than-perfectly gentle side. The patterns of the irregular trails continued to be spread over his torso once the shirt was out of the way. He didn’t even notice he had his eyes shut tight until he let them flutter open only barely, watching the ceiling that in his highly inebriated state appeared like a magnificent galaxy full of flickering stars. Perhaps it wasn’t even the alcohol, perhaps it was just the way his brother made him feel. Were that the case, then it wasn’t difficult to conclude that no one else could cause such a reaction.

So lost in his thoughts, he missed catching a glimpse of Vegard undoing his jeans and sliding them off rather swiftly. His older brother was, by all means, an experienced man and did not struggle removing what he felt was in the way of his own fervor, not even when he was as intoxicated. Within a moment the boxers were gone as well; Bård couldn’t even focus on anything because his brother’s hand was already working on his full erection. It wasn’t long before his mouth joined in with arousing kisses, winning a much audible gasp from the younger man. As much as Bård wanted to savor the sight of his brother’s fervent attentions, his mind went blank and he was bordering oblivion to all but pure thrill. He knew he wouldn’t last long, he never could in such a state. As he realized how close he was already, a part of him wanted to pull away and do something to please the object of his desire instead before he was too far gone, but Vegard was quick, pushing away the tiniest bits of rational, selfless comprehension Bård had left, his mouth sliding all over Bård’s shaft in the way he enjoyed the most. Bård was _already_ too far gone. And when he reached ecstasy he barely even noticed, for he was so, _so_ drunk, and driven by the love that now seemed endless, specially reserved for Vegard, he found his inner peace as he was slowly settling from his high.

Vegard was holding him, somehow he had managed to relocate himself and wrap his arms around his little brother, not saying anything and just soothing him, gently caressing his hair. The fingers struggled to slide through flawlessly, as their previous actions had necessarily made a mess or the silky strands, but Bård didn’t mind. He felt at peace, he felt loved, and his drunkenness was slowly but steadily drifting him off to sleep. And of course Vegard himself knew this wasn’t the way to act if he wanted to receive any sexual pleasure in return. He knew Bård to his very core. Yet there was a voice somewhere there, in Bård’s hazy thoughts, telling him to get up and be a better lover to the man who had just sent him off to heaven, but goodness was he tired. And it all just felt too good, and just this once Bård decided it wouldn’t be too harmful to be the worse partner for the night. Vegard was tired as well sometimes, wasn’t he? He ought to understand.

As an afterthought Bård remembered that his brother was likely too drunk himself, too drunk to be able to recollect most parts of the night the following day as it was. With a genuine smile in his self-achieved relief, Bård snuggled up closer to his brother, and bringing up his hand to rest near Vegard’s neck, he fell asleep happy and fulfilled.

When he awoke the next morning, though, he was anything but.

It was the silence that first reached his senses, a piercing form of nothingness that was merely an indicator of no other presence in the painfully bright room. Then there was the stinging pain his eyes were submitted to as he fluttered them open, however the cause weren’t the curt rays of sunshine that fought their way through the curtains. Bård had forgotten to take his contacts off. Now, partially dehydrated from the alcohol and even more so from sleep, they stung as though on a mission to make the man cry. He lazily began to rub the pain away with his balled fists, but knew that would not help, and eventually convinced himself to partially defeat the laziness and to take them out as properly as he could. One lens landed on somewhere in the bed and the other fell on the floor, but Bård didn’t really care—they were due to be replaced in about a week anyway. He had a throbbing headache to worry about. Perfect sight was not essential at the time being.

Grunting in what he himself considered a manly manner, though others would disagree, he slowly turned to his side and faced the emptiness of the bed. His suspicions were confirmed. There was absolutely no trace of his older brother. He didn’t even get that sulky feeling that usually overtook him in such scenarios anymore. No, he was growing used to this now. Stubbornly he forced a thought to his brain, claiming that he this was exactly what he wanted as well. That he didn’t care at all. Anything that would flip him to the winning side of this unnatural relationship. But of course that wasn’t the actual case, otherwise there would’ve been no real explanation to the tingling hope he felt that Vegard was there next to him in spite of all odds. The vestige of their steady relationship was too loose of a strand to hang on. And certainly, had he believed his own determined thoughts of indifference, he wouldn’t have reached for the cell phone Vegard had forgotten behind.

He knew the password by heart, and a small smile curved his lips as he typed it clumsily; it was his own birth date. Vegard hadn’t changed it since the day he had purchased this otherwise insignificant object to Bård. It was an evanescent flare of joy, however rapidly replaced by a hint of annoyance and a lingering frown. There was a text message from Helene. ‘ _Where are you already?_ ’ it read. But only a moment later there was another thing that flashed through Bård’s mind, another reflection of positivity, that perhaps this meant that his brother might have not wanted to leave, but naturally had to go meet his wife in order to avoid redundant suspicion. It could definitely be just that. Throwing the phone away carelessly, he strived to sit up, and as another set of pain spread throughout the entirety of his head he decided that, yes, Vegard wouldn’t want to leave him alone like that. He was simply the more responsible of the two.

Ah, the heart and the games it often plays.

Bård needed coffee. He wasn’t particularly fond of the beverage, but it was common knowledge that it was a drink that ought to help with a hangover. He desperately needed such assistance just then. For a minute or two he contemplated whether it would be wiser to call in room service or to check out instead, and eventually settled that it would be best if he would do the latter, as the walk he’d be obliged to take in order to get the beverage would in a way sober him up along the way. And _that_ he desperately required. He had only to gain.

The painful action of standing up to his feet and getting dressed promised to drive his turmoil over Vegard’s absence away. But in vain. As much as he willingly pushed his darting gaze elsewhere, he didn’t fail to scan the room for any type of note, which was of course devoid of such a shape. Sighing at his own silliness, he quickly located the room’s card and gathered his belongings, including the phone he’d found left behind, and made his slow, lazy steps out.

It took him a while to actually remember to check his own smartphone, which was by far more swamped with notifications than that of his brother. And he had a message from his own wife. She wasn’t asking where he’d spent the night, though. She simply informed him that the youngest of their children had thrown up all over their new carpet. Apparently the boy had caught the flu that’d been going around recently. The message told its own tales. It was a reminder that Maria was, above all, a dedicated mother, rather than the lover he had found in Vegard instead. For a moment there he wondered if she would care at all, were she to know he had replaced her so. He wondered if she would ask for a new carpet if he were to tell her of his and Vegard’s unbrotherly relationship just now. A chuckle left his lips as he thought about it some more—she probably wouldn’t. It was an expensive carpet he’d be probably submitted to clean up once he’d arrive at home.

As he scrolled the various notifications only semi-interested, standing in the relatively long elevator ride, a long e-mail caught his attention. It was from a girl, the same fan that essentially bombarded him with messages and pictures, and as Vegard had noted once or twice followed him around. Shaking his head at her persistence, he scanned through the words she had sent him. It was no new lengthy story. As she usually did, she vividly described the things she was willing to do for the prize of some time with him. Bård sighed sadly, tiredly. Fame, along its virtues, had unavoidable downsides. 

He reflected upon his life for a short moment as he stuffed the cellphone in the jacket. Particularly taking his focus was his job. It was the career path he had chosen for himself and he had no regrets. He wouldn’t deny that, sure, he wouldn’t mind being left alone by strangers every now and then. He wouldn’t mind an extension to his privacy. But it was alright. They were acceptable, all the sacrifices that had to be made. By now he had learned how to live his own life. Except for the relationship with Vegard, of course. It still managed to confuse him to no end, especially when it had taken this particular twist a few months previously. He had believed that by now he’d adjust, but his mind was all the more troubled in the stubborn reality.

The checking out was a procedure that lasted longer than necessary. Bård was impatient to get away all of a sudden. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, but it was equally uncomfortable on each. The lady, a sad excuse of a receptionist, was being far too slow. She was headed down a road to lose her job, Bård concluded. Or maybe he really was too impatient, too hungover to perceive the proceedings properly. It took him quite a while to realize that the young woman was flirting with him, holding him off purposely. His accepted role was, after all, an entertainer and people who recognized him certainly expected him to act it out. An autograph turned out to be satisfactory in the end, and the woman left him alone with one last wink.

It was the second he at last escaped from the lobby—immediately braced by the trafficked street—that a familiar ringtone sounded from his pocket. To his great surprise, the name Helene was flashed on the screen. Upon a better look, he noted that it was actually his brother’s phone that was receiving the call. For a moment, he panicked. Could it be that Vegard hadn’t gone home? Would Helene suspect anything if she knew that the phone wasn’t in the hands of its owner? Before he had time to contemplate any further, the sound ceased. And then it blasted once more, just as suddenly as before, and Bård jumped in place as he did not expect it. He wondered whether he should ignore it but the concern over his brother’s farewell was way bigger than all the paranoid thoughts rushing through his bleary mind. After a few moments, he realized he was holding his breath and exhaled consciously. Hesitating, he finally slid the ‘answer’ option across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Bård,” replied the voice that was too familiar. It was Vegard.

Bård felt the heavy lump in his throat disappear. “You freaked me out for a moment there, you know,” his relief was obvious. 

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t very well call you from my own number, now could I?” Vegard’s voice was bright and teasing. Too light for a man who was supposed to be just as hungover. Bård was envious of how his brother recovered more quickly than him in such examples.

“Yeah, you forgot your phone when you fled,” confirmed the younger brother, unable to suppress a smile despite the small sadness he felt at the last words.

A chuckle came through the line. “I realized that a bit too late. I was already in the car.”

“Must have drank more than you could handle,” Bård replied, forcing his voice toneless, fighting to stay indifferent. He was reluctant to admit how likely it was for his brother to see through it anyway.

Grunting a little dramatically, the other man partially agreed. “Maybe not more than I could handle, but it was certainly a lot.”

“Yeah.”

It was one of those rare awkward silences between them that followed, but neither of the brothers knew how to break it. Bård saw a taxi finally approach, but he did not move towards it. He’d wait for the next one, he was too unwilling to end the conversation just yet. Not that he actually knew how to do the opposite in that very moment.

It was Vegard who spoke after quarter a minute. “Well, I guess that’s all. Just wanted to check if you had it. Make sure you bring it to the office tomorrow, okay?”

Bård sighed. It dawned upon him that no, it wasn’t entirely his decision if the call would be cut short. “Okay,” he agreed in his defeat.

“Okay,” echoed his brother, but did not hang up.

Suddenly, something much like a wave of confidence splashed Bård. “Would you like to meet me later, though?” he blurted out before he could stop himself, and his free hand shot up to cover his eyes. _Stupid_ , he thought blatantly. _Nice move. Of course you are damn indifferent. So, so inconspicuously indifferent!_

To his great surprise and even greater alleviation, Vegard seemed enthusiastic about the offer. “Sure, we could do that.”

Bård’s jaw dropped in a form of disbelief. He wasn’t dubious of his brother’s sincerity, but the rigid thoughts of alarm and fear of being undesired had him on edge. He couldn’t believe how easy it was, to simply ask for what he wanted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The younger man darted another glance towards his surroundings as to somehow share his immediate happiness. He felt a weight drop off his shoulders, and suddenly he felt an urge to hop around like a child. Before too long though, he braced his own silliness, of course. “Well, I’ll text you when and where I guess,” he announced gleefully.

But his brother only huffed a chortle. “And how might you do that, you idiot?”

“I will—ah, your phone,” he remembered and hoped that Vegard wouldn’t attribute this illogical inference to the fact that Bård was nervous. Especially he wished that if the case were for Vegard to somehow note it—as he usually was so able to—he wouldn’t pinpoint the cause of such an emotion. He wanted to mutter that his slip up was due to his hangover as a face-saver, but that would have sounded exceedingly desperate that it was obvious to him even with his pounding head, so he decided against it. He was quick to recollect himself. “Right. Should I come and pick you up, then?”

Vegard laughed for a yet another time—a melody so beautiful and pleasant that it, as far as his lover was concerned, could be repeated for an infinity—and Bård could almost hear him smile as he spoke. “I’ll be at your place at six, be ready on time for once, alright?”

It was no secret who the better driver of the two Ylvisåkers was. It was Bård’s turn to laugh. He was fully satisfied. It was all just kept getting better and better, and so smoothly at that **.** “I’ll try my best.”

“You better.”

“See you, brother,” and the line went flat.

For once, Bård didn’t want to be late. Although his sly humor fretted over how funny it would be to make his brother wait, he decided he should choose a better moment for a joke. He was, if nothing else, eager to see Vegard. He always was. His childishness would have to be put on hold for a while. As he finally hailed a taxi and jumped in too energetically, his need for coffee quite forgotten, he couldn’t help but think that his concerns had been ridiculous.

It was just too obvious. Vegard definitely wanted him.


	4. One week later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small insight of how it went on after the murder in the prologue.

The clock in the hallway had not yet struck nine, but the house was unusually calm and practically silent when Bård climbed down the stairs. He chose the sitting room and took a seat on the sofa directly in front of the fire, his hands playing with the files he had to go through as soon as possible. The crackling flames alone cut the quiet, and Bård reflected that if he were not so used to the place, he might have found it a bit eerie. After a bit, however, Maria’s creaking movements in the kitchen could be heard, and that comforted Bård a little, knowing that despite their dispute she was tidying up noisily, showing signs that yes, she was angry. Any signs at all were good, he concluded. At a time like this, it was easy to let fear of imagined danger take over when unexpected movements haunted the house, but Bård preferred to be calmed by the indications of any company. Even when an argument between him and the other presence was the only persistent danger.

His wife’s mother had come to collect their children an hour before—far too early as far as he was concerned, having had his sleep disrupted—with the assurance that they would be home in time for supper when he'd insisted he could take care of them on his own, and that the woman should take her own daughter away instead. Although the elder woman had hissed her disapproval and had shouted at him to start acting like a proper husband, he did not really care. Partially because he couldn’t stand the sight of Maria right then and partially because he wished nothing more than to be alone. Consequently, the sound of the front door, not ten minutes after he sat down in the lonely room, did shake Bård a little. His wife remained puttering in the kitchen—no one else ought to be about the house, and so when footsteps and a low voice calling his name drifted through from the foyer, Bård set down the papers and rose from the sofa.

It was a man’s voice; he recognized it a moment later.

Borge Nelsen entered into the living room rather as if it were a part of his own home. The first thing that came to Bård’s mind when he saw him was that the man was overdressed for a morning check-up with his client. He shot Bård an unreadable type of glance, and then followed up with a smile, or rather a grin, fully aware that he was not welcome in this particular area of the house. He slid past the standing man and headed on a way to make himself comfortable without an invitation. As he collapsed onto the sofa in the spot where Bård had sat only moments prior, his gaze did not flicker, and with his tidy suit folding awkwardly at his joints he looked like a young bachelor returning from a fancy party.

“Aren’t you a bit early?” Bård asked rather fiercely, still in the same position, while Nelsen toyed with the corners of the folder he now placed in his lap.

“Had to be,” the older man muttered nonchalantly, cocking an eyebrow up when their eyes met. “I did want to see you first before I went over to my client,” he explained in a similar manner, “And you do look like you’re bored. You could use some company, or am I wrong?”

Bård was not amused. Given that Maria’s lawyer had taken his place on the sofa, he could not return to his comfortable position from before, and so he pulled a large chair closer to the fire and sat there instead. It wasn’t as cozy of a seat, but he would not place himself right next to the unwanted guest.

Noting that the younger man had no intention to reply, Nelsen added boringly: “And I don’t see your children running around either. You had two of those, right?”

“Three,” came the emotionless correction.

“Oh,” the lawyer shrugged. His sharp profile was highlighted in the firelight even in the broad morning light. Of course the man knew the correct amount of children there were on count, but he merely wanted to spike some unnecessary conversation. “I guess it’s better if they are not among their parents in this given situation,” he eventually concluded in his monotone musing.

Bård dropped his gaze. “Why are you _here_ , exactly?” it sounded like an accusation, as it very much was, but the older man did not even flicker his persistent glare. He turned his head inconsiderably, but enough to observe Bård even more closely, if that was possible at all. He studied his face, his gestures; hoping to dig out something on the man, something he could use in Maria's favor in court.

Bård knew why Nelsen had chosen the timing that he had, of course. What he couldn’t decipher was why he came to bother him. But he was the one who would not receive a reply in this round. “Right,” he mumbled as he noted he was being inspected instead; he refused to play whatever game this was. He got on his feet rather quickly and didn’t look back as he determinedly walked away. “My wife will meet you in a minute,” he informed him tonelessly.

She was already at the door when he exited, actually, so he hadn’t told a lie. With one shared venomous glance, they slid past one another silently. Bård didn’t even feel angry when he looked at her anymore—which couldn’t be said for his wife—instead he’d steadied the indifference he had so intently attempted to establish with his brother and very much failed. But of that Maria was not well aware. She refused to believe that her husband would turn so cold to her.

“Missus Ylvisåker, what a pleasure to see you!” beamed Nelsen the second the woman entered the room. She made her way across and took the seat her husband had abandoned. There was no warmth in her features; perhaps it was so only because she’d caught sight of Bård. They seemed to have such an affect to one another recently.

“Maria,” amended she, quietly but firmly.

“Maria,” repeated the lawyer inconspicuously and extended his arm to greet her in a handshake. It was a curt one at that, and he proceeded to fold his hands at the top of the folder in his lap, relaxing a little more, though he still spoke formally; “I’m aware I’m half an hour too early, but I found it necessary for us to discuss some facts before the trial this afternoon.”

The woman swallowed. She pursed her lips tightly; there it was, straight to the point. As much as she dreaded this entire situation, she would have appreciated the break some small talk could have provided. Evidently flustered but working hard to hide it, she forced a smile to her lips. “Yes, alright. But I’ve already told you all about my relationship with…” she then trailed off, for reasons unknown unable to voice the name of the person in question. The lawyer was patient. She drew in a breath. “With the victim,” she eventually settled.

Nelsen nodded a little too enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, of course. I’ve gathered enough information about that. But Missus Yl—Maria,” he corrected himself on time, expressing a joyless laugh along the way; “Your fingerprints were found on the murder weapon, and—“

She interrupted him shakily. “Because it was _my_ kitchen knife, goddamn it!” Her voice was louder than she had intended, but the words had spurted out uncontrollably. She couldn’t yet believe the detectives would consider her a killer to begin with.

“Maria,” the man continued calmly, his expression almost gentle. “I am not blaming you for anything, but that doesn’t change what the police found. Now, this is why there is a trial for this murder. The lack of evidence, the fact that there is no apparent motive…” he trailed off, a hand gesturing some circular motions for a more dramatic effect, meeting the trembling gaze of his client. Noting her distress, he added apologetically: “I did not mean to sound offensive. But I’ve been wracking my brain with all you’ve given me to work with, and frankly I cannot asses a credible defense as of yet. And so I came over here, to tell you, to ask you to help me work something better out.”

Maria nodded, curving her lips into another redundant smile, voicing a small: “Alright. I understand.”

“We won’t go through the things we already talked about during the previous week, about the crime-scene and such, I assure you,” he offered in means to comfort her, but her expression did not alter. “Now, I’ve been thinking about an angle we should be considering. Knowing that your husband is on the other stand of the jury, I suggest it is perhaps time we should discuss the problem between you two. After all, I have a strong suspicion it is what the prosecutor will be using against us. _My_ theory,” said Nelsen, leaning forward, and as if in response, Maria straightened so that her back stretched to the chair behind her, “Is that maybe _your husband_ had something to do with this.”

The woman’s jaw dropped with immediate effect. With her open mouth she tried to utter some words, but then closed it, only to open it again and still end up mute.

“I can understand how such a suggestion could be shocking,” the man proceeded a little more cautiously because of the lack of verbal response, “but if there is any reason your husband is not on your side just now that you know of, then please elaborate. We need to build your defense as efficiently as possible.”

Maria contemplated. Spirals of thoughts clouded her head and she could not settle very well on a certain point. What the lawyer had said, after all, was a mere logical conclusion. But she would have none of it. She had no theories of her own to offer, but she knew what she believed in. “My husband had nothing to do with the murder, and neither had I,” she said as in reminder, firmly, a distinct chill growing in her voice now. The lawyer nodded in understanding.

“Yes, Bård and I have had our problems recently,” she didn’t fail to confirm, “but to think that… To even consider that he had something to do with the gruesome crime that took away… so, _so_ much,” her voice was lowering to a whisper and she stopped herself again, quivering. But within a moment she recollected herself. “We didn’t ask for this to take place in our home. And yes, Bård and I are not on good terms at the moment, but we’ve always had our ups and downs. He didn’t know I’d be considered a suspect when he entered this trial. He didn’t know he would have to go against me. He was just confused, scared by the lack of suspects, by the lack of evidence, willing to help blame just anyone in his fear, scared that the police wouldn’t find anything and pin this on him somehow because _he_ found the body in _our_ home, or, or even worse, pin this on _all_ of us, and ruin our family, and he just wants to protects us and—“ she remembered to pause intentionally for the first time, aware that she was speaking too fast, the words rushing out of her mouth without much of her consent. She did intend to proceed, but realized that there was nothing worthy in her speech as it was.

It had come as a shock to all of them, actually. The detectives had taken Maria into questioning only minutes after they had identified the prints on the murder weapon. But there was nothing else they had on her that would lead to her imprisonment, and the police would not lock an innocent person up. They had little evidence that she had done it, and there had been no motive to be pinpointed. And then there was her alibi (the she had been out on a walk with Helene while their children were on a birthday-party) for the time when the murder had taken place, that although could be considered vague, was still confirmed by the other woman. And so it was decided that she would spend the days before the trial’s end at home.

Although Bård had made a clear point that he would do anything in his power to bring the person who had killed in their home would end up behind bars, he had not known Maria would be the first one to be suspected. And when he did learn of it, he refused to even speak to her; it did not help that the detective who had told him had exaggerated the facts due to his own belief that Maria was to blame. He was simply shocked.

However, the woman was very convinced that her husband did not consider her a murderer, despite all odds. And she would not let anyone shadow her belief.

Carefully listening, the lawyer unfolded his hands long enough for one to rub the shining skin on his head, as if smoothing back hair that did not happen to exist anymore. The other bony hand rested flat on the files on his thighs. He seemed to be somewhat pleased by these signs of affliction, as though he was finally managing to drag something out of the woman, however useless the information and assumptions were. He observed her carefully. There were tears in her eyes, but her expression remained stoic.

She had already begun to understand the point he was trying to make, after all.

“You don’t think he’d blame me to avoid becoming a suspect himself, do you?” Maria wondered in a small, nearly broken voice.

Borge Nelsen let out one heavy sigh. “Maria,” he began as gently as he could, “that is a question _you_ would be most eligible to answer. But what I would add to his defense, is that it was _your_ fingerprints that were found on the weapon.”

She indeed understood his point. It really all came down to that. Now the woman bit on her lip. She knew that Nelsen was right. She couldn’t deny the extents of what she was facing. One of the tears that clung to her eyelashes finally slipped down her cheek, but she stubbornly wiped it away.

Perhaps her husband did really think she had done it. That she had killed. It was a bitter reality that she could in no way alter or reason. She fought to keep her boiling anger and pain and disappointment in check, but it was as though this one realization shattered her in pieces. Where was the man she loved with her entire heart when she needed him? What had she done so wrong to deserve this? To be alone when she least should have been?

Nelsen inspected her closely, and he saw how helpless her situation to an incidence was. It was all apparent to him, all her thoughts, and he knew how horrible everything was for her currently. Especially that she had to go through this without her husband’s support, and what was even worse, with him testifying on the stand against her. He never got emotional with his clients, but at the moment a part of him ached with pity, but it felt so futile; there didn’t seem to be much he could say or do, much as he wished there were. It was his job to be on her side, after all, and he was employed to help her. Their relationship didn’t extend any further than that.

And then, all so suddenly he brightened, as an idea occurred to him.

“We could always use whatever he might have to say against you, you know. I am sure you would know if there is such a thing.”

Maria gulped a little anxiously. Of course she had a story to tell. And of course she wouldn’t actually tell it. Closing her eyes in an attempt to reconsider, or drag out a harmless part of the tale to share, she sunk deep into her thoughts.

Her biggest fear had always been that between her and Bård could come the greatest relationship destructor; a third person. She didn’t necessarily doubt her husband’s love, nor dedication; she trusted him to almost no end. It was the other women she didn’t trust, and the things they were willing to do to get him in bed. But of course had he been _hoaxed_ into such a thing, she would have forgiven him. She would know she was the one he really loved, and that it would have been meaningless. There was no point throwing away an entire, long-lasting relationship because of a reason as banal as that, no.

But then another _man_ had come into the picture. Another _man_ had taken her place in her husband’s arms. She was infuriated, hurt, confused. It came as nothing but a shock. It was the least she had ever expected, in fact she never even considered such a possibility. And when she found that the other man was none other than Bård’s _brother_ , she felt as though someone had chopped off her feet. She no longer knew how or where to stand. What the hell had happened to her flawless life?

At first it seemed like a bad joke. What else could it be? Two grown men— _two siblings_ —ought to know better. They couldn’t possibly be romantically involved with one another, for goodness’ sake. Could they, really? But her every such suspicion had been confirmed. She was certain it was true. And she hated it—that was the simplest of her emotions. And she had it all written down—all she knew about their sexual relationship, all about their hidden places and sneaky meetings. And she had shown it to Bård. Maybe to somehow threaten him, maybe to show that she was no fool, although in her blatant fury she would even have been capable of going to the lengths of presenting her article to the public eye. After all, she did need to avenge her pride, although she would never loudly admit such a thing. Not even in court.

Bård hadn’t even asked how she knew when he confirmed every detail. He had been so cold, so indifferent, and she thought it was so because he told her that Vegard had ended it a few weeks back. That it didn’t even matter anymore. That he was all hers now once again. But of course she knew better. She had lost him to Vegard the minute their unbrotherly relationship had begun. It wasn’t something that could be regained as easily as that. And there was another factor in line.

People lie. Maria wasn’t a fool to believe that she’d be an exception to the rule. Above all, her husband had lied, and that was the only thing she was absolutely certain of. What she believed was the worst part, though, it was that although she could see through people who attempted the hide the truth, she had refused to consider that Bård would compromise their perfect life by being dishonest. But oh, he really had done just that.

And now, now he had taken the side of the prosecution in court instead of hers. Perhaps it was time for her to stand up to the injustice their marriage was drenched in.

And so she told Borge Nelsen everything. She even gave him the article she had written. Under one condition, however, it being that he would only speak of the sibling incest if it were absolutely necessary, and only if he could twirl it to a perspective that wouldn’t harm her. She didn’t want to actually destroy her husband’s life, nor the image of their pure love, but if the opposite lead to her imprisonment she gave her lawyer the permission to do exactly that.

Nelsen listened patiently and clung onto every detail. He finally received something as scandalous and juicy as every other man of his profession could dream of. With this new given information and a little amount of improvisation to flip the story to a more useful angle, he finally had a form of a back-up plan, were the usual procedures of defense inefficient. And at last he could see a motive for murder taking shape somewhere in the background, something now invisible to everyone but him, and with his exaggerated manner of story-telling and presenting a counter-case, he knew he could get all the charges against his client dropped. And he could do it even sooner than he had expected, he realized. The idea had both occurred to Nelsen and appealed to him, but he wasn’t sure it would be entirely appropriate. Maria had, after all, made it clear she’d prefer if he used this story if only necessary. And he could clearly see how it could all very well backfire in an instant were he incautious of how he presented it.

He smoothed his phantom hair back again and pushed his hunger for quick victory further away in his thoughts with a smile. He could wait, but he would definitely win his case. There was no bigger joy for a man of his profession.

After a short while, Maria excused herself to get ready for the trial. With a smile and a handshake they parted, knowing it wouldn’t be long at all until they would see each other again. Closing the door behind the man, the woman walked up the stairs to the bathroom and avoided any clues of her husband’s presence. She had a new set of fury directed towards him that she wished to avoid bringing to surface.

As she usually did when she needed absolute privacy, she locked herself in the bathroom. She eyed the bouquet of red roses on the counter by the sink. But it was only for a split moment, and she didn’t think much of the usual sight; then she proceeded with her make-up routine. A few hours later, she would be called on the stand by the jury, and she had a wish of how to present herself. Maria Ylvisåker chose to be exceptionally beautiful that day. The time she spent styling her hair was more than she’d dare to admit, adamant to attain the most flawless of curls she was capable of producing. The reddish lipstick made her lips look fuller than they actually were, but she stayed short of eye-shadow as she knew how mesmerizing her husband found her blue eyes natural. As she stared at her own reflection in the mirror, she was satisfied. She had only one intention, and that didn’t alter no matter where either of their whereabouts would be.

She wanted him to stare, to realize what he had lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was not too boring of a chapter because of the lack of Ylvis in it. ^^  
> A huge thank you to everyone who's reading and has left kudos and feedback; you guys make me happy!


	5. Three weeks earlier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some conversations one wishes they never held at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my friend Hoku for being the only solid rock (a rather patient one at that too!) whom I could hold on to while--forgive the poetic expression--a hurricane entered my little shelter recently. And of course for being so damn helpful with this story!

Some say the bond between two people is attachment. Vegard Ylvisåker, though, always found those words young, sprung from the minds of poets writing still from underneath the wings of their mothers, because while the words sound pretty, he believed them, in truth, hollow. What he’d rather say, was that a relationship is born when a certain type of _codependence_ is formed.

Nothing is simple. Even the foundation of something can be broken down into fragments, and at the end of the day, when nothing else provides a simple answer and the mind takes over, a person sees only what he or she wants to see.

With this in mind, no relationship can be seen as a singular entity. What Vegard firmly believed in, was the plain explanation that interpersonal relationships are primarily comprised of moments. Of conversations, from two separate perspectives. Moments are quiet, indescribable things that carry meaning beyond their obvious content, and different meanings for all participants, at that. They come, they pass; they are replaced by another and in the process they accidentally build what is commonly thought of as the single, albeit complex, phenomenon— _life_.

The trouble with moments and conversations however, is that one can only have a very limited control over them, and that their consequences can be both precisely what one needed and not at all what they hoped for. As with any gamble though, a man can by desperation be pushed into disregarding great risk, in hope of a reward he has come to see as necessary.

Vegard Ylvisåker found himself in just such a state of desperation. There was something within him boiling to reach surface, clawing in vicious attempts to tear him open and break free. Doing something he felt was wrong always brought about this sensation. As though allowing it to come to light would set him free, not only from the shame, but from the guilt. As though it was enough to cease to be an _active_ part of the problem he had caused. As though distancing himself from the problem would make it go away.

Of course he realized that reality does not truly work that way, and so he found himself struggling with his emotions. He did not see any other way to handle the situation than conversation, but who could he talk to? There would be no point with talking to Bård, and he could not imagine opening up to his non-suspecting wife, which eliminated the only two persons he ever felt truly close to, but the stinging guilt had him dragged him in circles, suggesting one thing after the next, each thing worse than the previous. He finally decided to talk to none other than Maria, although he was well aware that many would find it an odd solution were they to know what had driven his distress.

He had seen her only a couple of times after he’d hooked up with his brother, and it hadn’t been very pleasant for him. There was something in her expression, a certain type of sadness her taut face could not hide behind a smile, a sadness that made him feel like he was being stabbed repeatedly. She had asked him, at that dinner party a week before. She had asked him whether her husband had been unfaithful to her. The poor woman was clueless and he felt like all of it was his fault. It was, after all, him with whom Maria’s husband had fallen into infidelity. He was convinced that the relationship between him and Bård had brought about the destruction of not only their entire lives, but also those of the people who loved them. Come to think of it, he was not the one being stabbed.

Maria had for some time been assaulted by the feeling of her life crumbling about her, but she was fumbling blind after a cause, an enemy. Vegard saw it well because he was the one who held the light, and now he decided it was about time to shed it upon the woman he had helped destroy. To tell her that she shouldn’t be blaming herself for her dying marriage.

Secrecy had never been one of Vegard’s defining characteristics. He tried to maintain a very open personality, seeing no reason to weave illusions about his person. He did not believe in dishonesty, lies were not his style and he rarely practiced them, so when he found himself feeding his wife a distinctly false story in order to meet with another woman, guilt plagued the dark haired man. It was quite unnecessary too, because Maria could never be any danger to Helene, all things considered, but it was something about being unable to tell his _own_ wife what burned his soul that was unnerving. He would however not be swayed in his decision. He had been considering his options for a long while before he had concluded it was best to share what he had done with Maria.

The morning he decided to get it done, Helene was even more beautiful than usual. Smiling as he made his way out, but feeling guiltier and guiltier with every passing second, Vegard pecked his beautiful wife and departed his home. He moved across the yard with uneven steps and settled in his car. With one final sigh, wrapping his trembling fingers around the steering wheel, he brought the engine to life and began his journey.

Today was the day he would finally speak the truth to another human being. Each moment found him ever closer to the conversation he had come to see as necessary, his determination more and more giving way to a feeling of relief. Finally, the suffering of withholding his sins would be over.

He arrived slightly earlier than scheduled at the tiny café, but luckily for him, he spotted the blonde woman across the premises within moments. _Great_ , flashed through his head, _the sooner we do this, the better_. She was looking at her folded hands on the table as he walked over, and when she glanced up to meet his eye he was a little taken aback by the sight. The usually stunning woman wore darkening circles around her eyes, her smile was forced but did not manage to hide how tired she was. How worn. For a moment, he thought her almost ill, but as they shared a hug and settled in their seats, he decided it was best to leave it alone. After all, his own reflection in the mirror that morning had not been much different. He understood.

“How are you?” Maria asked with a more genuine smile; even her voice sounded somehow drained.

Vegard wanted to skip answering the question altogether, to state that obviously neither of them were alright, but he couldn’t do it. “I’ve had better days,” he told her instead, and the woman nodded in agreement.

“Me too,” she said with a small smile. “I ordered some coffee for the both of us, I hope you don’t mind,” as she spoke these words, Vegard’s eyes found that two cups had indeed already been placed before them.

He nodded gratefully. “I know you don’t like yours cold, but I knew you’d be early here as well,” added Maria, her eyes radiating warmth.

Vegard’s mouth broke into a grin as he tried not to cringe at the niceness he did not deserve. But he had nothing to say in response. No wise words. No small talk. His heart was already pounding at the thought of the actual reason that had them meet here. Noting that she was more or less voluntarily staring at him, and wishing nothing more than to avoid the specific attention, he offered another smile. “Yeah, thank you,” he eventually mumbled.

They both fell silent, and Maria observed Vegard as he all but avoided her gaze. He had no clue as to how to begin, and of course the usual dilemmas and debates of whether he was doing the right thing were steadily overwhelming him. He could feel his racing heart getting even louder, his face reddening only mildly and his entire figure beginning to sweat. He was nervous; there was nothing that indicated otherwise. Maria saw this, and when he did not even seem to register the question she asked him, she began to feel a little upset herself.

“ _Vegard?_ ” she added with a bit more pressure.

The man finally snapped his head up towards the origin of the concerned voice. “Huh?” he felt a little lost.

“I asked you what it was that you wanted to tell me,” she looked at him inquiringly.

“Right,” mumbled Vegard but still couldn’t find it in him to actually start talking, no matter how much he felt he needed to. Was there any right way to tell a woman that her husband had been sleeping with someone else? His own sibling, at that? It seemed that in such an event, one brother would certainly not be telling the other’s wife about it. And yet Vegard saw no other option.

The woman watched him patiently, waited for him to recollect himself. “Is it about Bård?” she supplied helpfully.

Vegard gulped. He knew this would be on her mind, since she’d asked him about it once before. Could she know? He felt as if the truth was written all over his face, in neon lights flashing the obvious to just about anyone who’d see him, in the traces left there by his brother. He felt his heart sink at the thought of sitting here, telling her a story she had already induced… But she couldn’t possibly know. She would not be here if she did. He suddenly wondered whether Maria could hear his pounding heart, and what conclusions she might be drawing from it, in this very moment. 

But the woman didn’t seem to pay any mind to his condition. His silence was telltale enough for her, and she shut her eyes tightly, her biggest fears resurfacing. “He’s cheating on me,” she managed to utter without looking at Vegard; it was a clear statement.

Vegard’s gaze suddenly shot up and his mouth opened slightly on its own accord. He felt himself draw a deep breath as he contemplated how to proceed. Bård had been far too reckless, uncaring to return home before the sun rose, ignoring the messages and calls from his wife quite often. His behavior was bound to raise suspicion, and Maria was a smart woman. And for the two of them to meet like this, Vegard and Maria, was odd enough for her to know _something_ was up.

At the lack of response, she finally looked up. “I knew it,” she said lowly, sounding more beat and defeated than hurt; but wasn’t there a hint of accusation there?

It was when the woman, who had until now been slouching under the weight of what she believed was a confirmed suspicion, straightened up, locked their eyes and demanded to know “Who is she?” that he realized he had been holding his breath. When he exhaled, he felt as though allowing a part of himself to evaporate. Or at least it was what he wished, that somehow things would take a turn and be alright as they were.

But reality presented no magic tricks.

Had he been clueless before as to how to proceed, he was utterly dumbfounded now. “There is no she…” he attempted, but trailed off. The woman dug her eyes are him expectantly, but he could think of nothing else to say in order to avoid what he needed to tell her.

When Maria realized he was not going to speak as easily as she had predicted, she exhaled heavily, nearly annoyed. “Don’t lie to me Vegard. Not now. I know that’s what you want to tell me. All the late nights, all the extra hours he’s claimed to be picking up at work… And do you think I can’t smell another person on him? It is so damn obvious…” she paused, looked at the man across the table with sincere sadness planted on her features. “Please, Vegard. Just tell me. Help me save my marriage,” her voice was barely above a whisper, however in no way concealing her pleading tone.

Now Vegard was the one who closed his eyes and considered his words. His heart-rate was almost painful at this point. Images of the time he spent with his brother, of the things they’d done, overtook his thoughts and he just wanted to snap out of it. And he knew not how, at least not properly, so he decided to sound the first words that came to mind. “He’s been with me. Every time he made an excuse, he’s been with me,” he said it far too swiftly, his own voice sounding foreign in his ears. Maybe because he had been completely and painfully honest.

Whatever reply he expected, he could had never foreseen for Maria to scoff. She didn’t freak out, she didn’t cry, she didn’t hit him. She seemed nothing else but annoyed. “I don’t believe this,” she muttered almost irritated, and shook her head in clear disapproval. “Stop fucking covering for him, damn it!”

Vegard flinched at the raised voice, but realized why her reaction had been misplaced. He made a point of turning around and eyeing up his surroundings to find people glancing up them, but no one seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Maybe it was all in his head. But somehow he was calm, as though he had at last accepted that there was no escaping this now. “I’m not covering for him,” he insisted, but the woman didn’t seem convinced at all.

“Mmm?” Considering it was but a single consonant sound, she managed to express a great deal of malice.

“I’m not covering for him, Maria,” he repeated blatantly, forcing himself to just say it, to find it in him to at last voice what he’d been planning to, what he needed to say, straight to the point, and yet still he just waited for another push. A push that wouldn’t come. The woman was flushed and simply stared at him, likely holding back words that would be anything but supportive. “He was with me,” he repeated quietly.

“Vegard…”

“He was with me. Bård was with me, every single time he lied to you. He was with me.” He thought if he had to say it again he would explode. He had no different words. “He was cheating on you but there is no other woman.”

The grimace that suddenly painted Maria’s features was beyond anything Vegard had ever seen. He could see the millions of thoughts cascading into her head, colliding into one single realization. There was something new in her eye, some sort of newfound pain and detachment from calmness.

Piercing silence. But what was worse was the uncertainly of what exactly was to come.

“Please tell me you are not suggesting what I think you are,” she whispered, a howling void of emotions now creeping into her soft voice, a void as horrifying and unfathomable to Vegard as the dawning revelation must surely have been to the woman whose mind he feared he may have broken.

“I’m so sorry,” he managed weakly, his voice cracking, his entire being drenched in remorse and pain and a self-hatred of infinite depth. If the woman wasn’t about to start crying, he had a feeling he’d have to be the one to do it. It would at least paint a reasonable reaction.

Suddenly, Maria’s face fell into her palms, and she remained in that position unmoving. Vegard expected her to begin sobbing at any given moment, but of course that was something she was too shocked, too stunned to do. “Oh my God,” came her muffled exclamation, and he then knew she could see all the obvious signs his brother and him had not attempted to cover.

“I wish I could say I can explain, but—“ he tried, his vocal strings trembling.

She interjected. “Don’t.”

Vegard wanted to be taken aback by the venom in the single word, but he couldn’t. He didn’t blame Maria. He wasn’t exactly surprised by her reaction either. All he wanted to do, though, was to apologize, to somehow make it up to her… to himself.

“I’m so, so so—“

“Leave.”

She had cut him off so sternly that he froze in his spot. His mouth draped open and he wanted to utter an excuse, another apology, anything that would begin to justify his doing, but nothing would come. He knew what he had to do. He had to do the only thing she asked of him.

“I really am sorry,” he allowed himself to speak as he got up and away from her sight.

The air was unpleasantly cold outside, but Vegard didn’t really notice. The weather bore no significance; the more he thought about it, actually, he realized that nothing held a special meaning to him anymore. Nothing since he had ended that relationship with his brother, nothing since he had crossed so many lines.

Through the glass window of the café he could still see Maria in the same position, her face dug into her hands, body motionless. He thought that maybe if she cried he could feel more, that maybe then his relationship with Bård could be humanly comprehendible, causing normal reactions. Anything but the inexpressible shock that now radiated from Maria. Anything that would indicate what it actually was that he had done. What they had done.

But he was no longer certain such a thing was even possible. He did not know what it was that he had expected from Bård’s wife. He did not know what he expected to be feeling now either. And he didn’t feel much, not really. He was numb and felt like an observer of his own life, like it wasn’t actually him steering through these moments. Anything that would blame something else for what he had done.

For a split second he could see it clearly, he could see what it really all came down to. There was nothing more to it, really, no complications to justify and reason and explain a bond between two people. It was only just that—moments and conversations, and it was only when emotions came into the mix, muddling judgments and dimming one’s vision, that things began to get complicated.

It had only been a conversation that had changed so many relationships. In a moment.

Moments are the things that we remember: the silent looks to interpret or misinterpret, the smiles to analyze repeatedly later, the indescribable emotions contained within a touch or gesture. Moments are the things that pester and persist, because though thousands of words are devoted to explaining, it’s the moments that we trust. They are the things that you can see in your mind all those years later, when the conversations have faded into an oblivion of millions and millions of words.

Vegard Ylvisåker had many a moments that he, while he did not wish to, felt it would be best if he forgot. On this particular day however, forgetting was not on his agenda. Right now, he prayed for the day when _forgetting_ the moments spent with his brother would be his biggest issue, a day when the conversation that had revealed them did not hang as a heavy, acidic shadow over even the memories themselves, taking from him all control.

 


	6. Four months earlier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things have beginnings...

Somehow the brothers ended up in a fancy penthouse. Despite it having been a last-minute booking, their manager had, after a small amount of negotiation, managed to land them even better housing than was necessary. Neither of them complained. A little luxury hurt no one, and they had never been in a more grandiose hotel room than this. If nothing more, it was another experience to add to a long list.

On nights like this the brothers preferred to be either out having fun or getting a well-deserved rest. Tonight, however, they found themselves immersed in the spacious suite with no other amusement but each other’s company. Fortunately, they didn’t have to be up and about until the following afternoon, and so they decided it would hurt no one to stay up a little later than usual. It was way past midnight and they were still quite energetic.

“Maybe we should drink,” suggested Bård casually, sprawled across the king-sized bed, strumming random chords on the guitar he had brought along especially for the occasion.

“Hmm?” came from Vegard, who was caught up reading some file their manager had handed them earlier. He didn’t necessarily have to be working just now, but he decided that it would be best to go through the following week’s schedule as soon as possible, so if he’d come across something he wasn’t pleased with, he’d have enough time to react and change it up. He’d been putting it off the entire evening already.

It was a week before the end of their live performances. The brothers spent the summer touring, not very wildly, but each show still left them ecstatic. They’d have a short break before proceeding with the new season of _I Kveld med Ylvis_ , but neither of them minded being as swamped with activities as they were. They were living the dream and the job was exciting; something not many a people could sincerely claim. The only downside was, of course, the short amount of time either of them could dedicate to their families, but it wasn’t too bad. It took some getting used to, but spiced with unquestioned acceptance, it simply became the normal way of life. Perhaps it was also the way the brothers fit into the situation by more or less deliberately becoming an inseparable duo, both of them extremely, and very subconsciously grateful to be getting along with the other so well.

“I’m thinking white wine,” Bård went on in his previous tone, “it feels kinda suitable, you know. And _fancy_.”

Vegard murmured an uninterested “Whatever” without raising his glance. His tone didn’t go unnoticed by his brother, though.

“Of course if you don’t feel like drinking, I’ll just order some beer,” settled the younger man in mock-defeat, and took up a new melody on his guitar when he didn’t provoke any comment. It was a rather cheerful sequence of chords, which he accompanied with singing. At first it was some random words and silly na-nas, sung a little too high to be entirely comfortable in his vocal range, but later on they took on the shape of a steady chorus reciting: “Old people don’t wanna have fun, no, old people don’t wanna get drunk, na-na-nah.” He let the final C-chord cling longer than necessary in his theatrical performance.

Thus, he finally won his brother’s attention, who peeked at him, visibly amused at last, and shook his head lightly. “Are you trying to make a point or something?” he inquired brightly, and Bård’s head shot up to meet him with a grin.

The blonde one blinked innocently and paused his strumming. “No, what gave you that idea?”

The older brother rolled his eyes dramatically and shoved the papers far across the table. It was a rather large table as well, much like all the objects seemed to be oversized in that room; a huge flat TV screen, never-ending soft carpets, bathtubs large enough to fit an entire kindergarten class, a mind-boggling variety of rather expensively large (and quite unnecessary, even in such a fancy suite!) paintings plastered on the walls, and then enormous glass windows where there were none of those, and of course—the bed.

“If you wanna drink, we’ll drink,” he finally allowed, but Bård did not appear to be satisfied by the nonexistent enthusiasm.

“We don’t _have_ to,” he retorted, prolonging each word to indicate that he indeed only wanted the opposite.

Vegard shook his head once more at his silly brother and got up to his feet.

“Order whatever you want, I’ll hop in for a quick shower.”

Bård broke into a grin at the small victory. As his brother moved away, he took hold of the phone by the nightstand and made the order. He had a feeling it was going to be a good night, even though they weren’t out partying or doing anything that they on another occasion would have considered necessary to have even remotely fun. Although he found immense pleasure in mingling with other people, he certainly didn’t mind staying in for a night for some quality time with his brother. What he hoped for, though, was that Vegard would not choose to be a complete bore on this particular evening, as he was occasionally in the habit of doing. The thought stirred to life a sudden realization of how dependent he was on Vegard, but he quickly dismissed it.

The wine arrived before Vegard was out of the bathroom, and Bård didn’t wait to pop the bottle open and pour himself a drink. He had no reason to wait. Not really. Vegard could catch up if he wanted to. He sipped on the drink, without haste, and paused to take a look through the window from where he sat. The hotel was quite a tall building, but there was not much to be seen outside; it was located somewhere in the midst of the city and there was nothing other than buildings to be spotted, some less interesting than others. However, some illuminating light from the windows broke through the darkness, and although it was no special sight, there was something about it that drew Bård to his feet and made him close the distance to the glass. His eyes darted from place to place in the unspectacular view, but it wasn’t the city that rolled through his thoughts. He stood there looking blankly and reflecting upon his life.

They had really walked a long road together, Vegard and he. Started out as lucky teenagers who made the grade and pushed through life with talent and humor—quite possibly their charm had a big role as well—and ended up here, in a grand hotel-room and air pumped with success and fame. But it all felt so normal, so damn ordinary to him. It was the way things were for them, an accepted role they had to act, and sometimes it was too easy to forget that there were so many people around the country—hell, around the world, now—who looked up to them, admired them in a way, even. To Bård they were just two ordinary brothers who’d taken a leap, years ago, and ended up on a stage where they obviously belonged. And people loved them.

What were the odds, really? They’d had it so smooth, followed a path with absolute confidence that it would all work out on its own, and all the work they’d done, all the stressful and sleepless nights of brain-wracking pressure to put together something funny, all of it had been accomplished through just that—that they’d somehow make it work and it would be alright, and so far, they had always been proven right.

He thought a bit harder. It really hadn’t been as easy as all that, though, had it? He found himself sounding a chuckle as he realized how simple some events he had stressed over in the past now felt.

“Already drunk?” came a voice from behind that startled him a little, but he recovered quickly, spinning on his heel to meet the grinning face of his brother. He then realized that he hadn’t taken as much as a sip since he’d hopped to his feet, and stirred the glass in his hand consciously as though to measure the amount of liquid, just to be sure. He contemplated a little before he spoke, as though choosing the words carefully, and quite determinedly ignored the remark.

“What do you think you’d be, Vegard? If we hadn’t gotten into show business.”

Vegard raised his brows in a form of bewilderment at the presented question and huffed a short laugh. His locks were pretty damp and he still attempted to towel-dry them as he spoke. “What, are all those interviewers rubbing off on you now?”

Bård’s gaze did not flicker from where it was focused on his drink, despite the pestering tone. “No, I mean seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever truly thought about it until now.”

He paused for a moment, indecisive as whether to drop the subject, but confidently deciding against it. Neither he nor Vegard ever enjoyed these supposedly deep and meaningful conversations and dilemmas, but there was something that had him thinking of this all tonight, and he was unwilling to let it go. Clearing his throat, he added: “Have you?”

The older man chewed on his lip and then spun around swiftly, walking towards a chair on which he dropped his towel. “No, I haven’t really. And I don’t know, it’s hard to imagine something that feels far away, you know.”

“Yeah,” murmured Bård and at last gulped down some of his wine. “But we definitely wouldn’t have been here, in a penthouse together,” he didn’t fail to remark a little jokingly.

“Probably not,” allowed his brother, and swirled back around to face him again. “I thought we were supposed to be having fun, getting drunk or something, not searching for the meaning of life,” he teased, but noticed the seriousness of Bård’s features. Vegard let out a sigh. He was in no mood to be discussing this, not really. He simply needed a break from everything, he wanted to let his mind go for a short while. “Where’s the wine?” he offered as a distraction, and the younger man’s eyes shot up brightly.

“I’ll pour you a glass,” he suggested with a satisfied smile and went on to do so.

Vegard made a scene of following him all the way to the nightstand and then threw himself on the enormous bed. Once handed the alcohol, he gulped down a few unnecessarily big sips and took a look at his wrist-watch. It was almost three after midnight but he did not feel tired in the slightest. He peeked up at his brother, who at that point downed his own drink and then proceeded to get himself a refill. It wasn’t long before he joined on the bed, collapsing in a _puff_ , and they both lay there, staring at the ceiling, lost in their own thoughts, oblivious to much else.

“We’d still be doing things together though, don’t you think?” mused the younger one after a couple of minutes.

Vegard rolled on his side to face him. His brother clung to the subject a little too long for his taste. Perhaps it really was bothering him, and Vegard was becoming increasingly concerned. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly.

“Maybe we wouldn’t be working together, but I’m sure we’d be just as close.”

Vegard watched his brother carefully; the way he rarely blinked when he was seriously considering something, eyes focused on a blank point ahead, arms folded at his chest a little awkwardly, as one hand was maintaining a glass upturned. He had no wish to repeat his previous words, so he felt obliged to keep silent and simply observe. The truth was, what he personally believed to be correct was that the work had made them as codependent as they were, a relationship they were unable to escape and therefore built stronger instead. It was like thinking about the youngest brother, to whom they both were close indeed, but never had shared the bond that only seemed to exist between him and Bård. It was, in many ways, irreplaceable, but also sort of part of the package, with all they were doing together.

Suddenly, Bård met his brother’s eyes and took a deep breath. He meant to say something, but stopped when their eyes locked, and instead he just stared, examining details of Vegard’s face he had always known of but never fully noticed, a wave of melancholy overfilling him momentarily. “I just can’t imagine my life without you,” he admitted in a small voice, pursing his lips into a tiny, tight smile.

Vegard’s smile was bigger. “Yeah, I know.”

At that point, Bård redirected his gaze and slowly but steadily placed the glass of wine on the nightstand, which was almost empty anyway. He mimicked his brother’s position, not much space parting the two, and without considering the action, he took one of Vegard’s hands in both of his. The older brother flinched at the unexpected gesture, but rapidly recovered and relaxed, feeling comfortable, even. He wore a glowing smile as he closed his eyes, as though his weariness was finally getting to him and taking its toll, the unusual physical proximity soothing him unpredictably.

“Look at me, Vegard,” whispered the younger one, and as easily as Vegard had relaxed, he became tense.

He let his eyes flutter open cautiously, and was a little perplexed at the sight of Bård’s taut features. “Is something wrong?” he wondered quietly, squeezing at his hands very lightly.

Bård frowned. “No, I guess not, it’s just…” he trailed off, again at a loss of words, or the right ones at least. He knew what was troubling his mind, thoughts that had crept into him on several odd occasions, but he was well aware he could not voice them. And he was afraid. He was utterly frightened to tell his brother that he loved him. And the fact that he found such a sentiment frightening had him even more horrified. A part of him, which he persistently denied and ignored, knew what it really meant, but _shouldn’t_ mean.

“It’s just that I don’t know what I’d ever do without you,” he eventually finished heavily, his heart beginning to slightly hammer at his sudden openness, one he knew Vegard only ever ran away from.

“Bård,” the dark haired man sighed and closed his eyes again. He really was tired, and while certainly not annoyed, such conversations had him feeling on edge, claustrophobic even. He didn’t, however, want to disappoint his brother, his best friend, even though he was not fond of the topic, so he continued talking softly. “You don’t have to think about that, alright? Because I’m here now, and I’ll probably always be here. I mean—I promise you I will be. Don’t worry about such stuff. We’re alright,” and then he paused, as though another thought came to him, perhaps because his mind searched for some sort of an escape from this conversation he was so bad at. It was not that he was afraid of what he felt, it was simply that he hated tumbling over words like he was, rushing through them as he could not wait to put them in the past. “Or is there something else troubling you?” he inquired curiously, a little worriedly, but the younger man shook his head no.

“I’m fine,” Bård tried to sound convincing. “It’s just what I’ve said—you’re really always around and sometimes I wonder what kind of a person I would be if we were to spend some time apart.”

It was Vegard’s turn to frown as he began to consider another perspective. “Are you trying to tell me that… you’re getting sick of me or something?”

He meant to say it a little more brightly than it had sounded, to spin it around as some joke, and he didn’t really fear that to be the case. Yet there was still a sinking feeling drenching his gut that lasted only a few moments, just long enough for him to acknowledge it.

“No, of course not!” exclaimed Bård; he wanted to grin and to reassure his brother that he was trying to state the exact opposite, but something within him obligated him to a role of seriousness. He was merely humorless. “That’s what I mean, it’s so difficult to imagine any aspect of my life without you.”

Vegard beamed at last, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, attempting another take at the repetitive phrase. “I bet it would be a pain in the ass if you didn’t have me as your personal chauffeur most of the time, you’d actually have to drive your own car to interviews and meetings and stuff.”

Bård’s lips curled up at his brother’s sudden cheerfulness, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually relax at this point. “God, Vegard, I’m serious,” he mumbled gently and tiredly, and the moment those words escaped his lips he wished he hadn’t said them. Partially because he didn’t wish to appear weak, partially because he really was vulnerable and felt it was about time to put an end to it, and partially because he had just forsaken an excellent opportunity to drop the difficult subject, instead of fruitlessly continuing to pursue it.

Exhaling heavily, Vegard battled his exhaustion. “We should sleep, Bård,” he said, closing his eyes for the umpteenth time and turning to lie on his back, trying to pull his hand from Bård’s grasp, that now began to feel alien, and very much failing; his brother was clutching on to it tightly. He snapped his eyes back open and was quick to reexamine Bård’s expression. “Did you drink a lot while I was in the shower?” he inquired sincerely, because at the particular moment he could not fathom the actions portrayed before him. It was no secret that Bård turned on his depressive mode whenever alcohol flooded his system, and this seemed like no different chatter to Vegard.

Bård rose his brow and shook his head. “I’m not drunk,” he answered uselessly and at last loosened his firm hold on Vegard’s hand, who took advantage of the opportunity and slipped away, promptly scooting a little further from the other. There was an audible scoff that left Bård’s lips indicating that although he would never admit out loud that he needed his brother’s special attention, it was all he really required at the moment.

If anyone knew this specific reaction, it was Vegard. “What’s gotten into you?” he wondered honestly, fighting away a frown.

Bård sat up rather suddenly. “I don’t know. _Nothing_. I’ve been thinking about my life recently and I wanted to talk to you about it. To tell you these things, because somehow I hoped it would relieve me of all this…” he shrugged, “ _tension_.”

“Have you had these thoughts for a while then?” asked Vegard, feeling guilty. He had noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

Bård’s reply was a little rushed. “About you?”

“Ah.”

All the suspicions that this had a deeper significance were wiped away and replaced by flickers of nervousness within Vegard. He never liked talking about himself, especially not when it came to sentimental things. He found himself at a loss for further response, especially when he realized he really did not know what it was about himself that Bård was referring to.

“Could you sit up as well, please?”

The older man’s brow shot up and he appeared quite puzzled. “Huh? Why?”

“Please, Vegard. I want to tell you something.”

“Well you could do it anyway and—“

“ _Please_ ,” interjected Bård. “Just do this for me.” He was a little surprised by himself as well, following a completely impulsive thought.

For a split second, Vegard attempted to weigh down possible outcomes of what he was about to do, but then remembered that what was asked of him was quite simple. He had to sit up; what more could there be to that? And so he did, despite the feeling in his gut that said this was no ordinary request.

Bård grabbed both his hands again, clasping them in his own almost violently, and there was an unusual spark in the man’s eye. “I don’t know how to say this,” he looked almost pale as he uttered the words.

Now Vegard was seriously concerned. “Say what?”

“God, Vegard, I… it’s all the things I said already. I just… _love_ you.”

Bård was trembling visibly.

Vegard’s mouth opened slightly to let out a confused huff of a laugh, a little embarrassed. “I know, Bård, and I love you too. What’s gotten into you?” he asked again, shaking at the hands that were already holding his. “Seriously, will you tell me what’s wrong?”

A million thoughts were swirling through Bård’s head and his heart was definitely racing now. What had been tiny suggestions in the back of his mind were now becoming all he could properly thinking about, all the while he knew how irrational it all was, how he should be ignoring all the nonsensical feelings within himself, and all those voices that both whispered and shouted that yes, he really did love Vegard. So much more than he was permitted to admit. And he wanted to keep his mouth sealed, fought to remain calm, but he said it anyway, the words became the better of him and demanded to be voiced.

“Can I kiss you?” it came out as a whisper, although to him it could have just as well have sounded like a hurricane.

He felt an instinctive urge to cover his mouth, as though to cage any other unorthodox desires that wanted to run away, but he didn’t—he couldn’t; he kept holding on to Vegard, and in that particular moment the physical connection seemed to be the only bond between them two, which frightened him.

What had just been served to Vegard was a cocktail he could not digest. At first he struggled to reinterpret the words only to find there could be no other meaning to them, then he began to feel afraid, and sorry, and excited, and when he started to sweat uncontrollably in a matter of seconds; it wasn’t difficult to conclude that he was dead nervous. “No, Bård—w-what?” he stuttered, all flushed, unconsciously trying to pull away. When his brother uttered no reply and simply began to lean in, he suddenly felt the urge to jump to his feet, to run away.

But all he did was stand up, a task the complexity of which was increased by the other person keeping him in place, but somehow he managed to do it anyway, and unsteadily he took a few steps back.

“Vegard, I’m sorry,” pleaded Bård, who now appeared unexplainably calm as he got to his own feet; perhaps the worst for him was already over. “Let me explain, alright?”

As there was nothing better he could think of to do, the Vegard nodded and forced himself to listen, but his thoughts were in turmoil and a solemn panic swiftly overtook him.

“Like I said, my entire life involves you, everything I do, and I—I don’t know, I guess it’s only natural that on top of everything I’d fall in love with you, and—“

He then stopped, noticing how flushed his brother was and how he seemed to refuse to listen.

“Don’t say that, Bård, you can’t—“

The younger brother easily closed the distance between them, saving only a meter, Vegard being frozen in his spot. “It’s just how I feel, Vegard,” he mumbled softly, sounding half broken, and then their eyes finally locked.

“God, Bård, you can’t be serious—are you sure you’re not drunk?” The words were rushed and sluggish.

“I’m not drunk.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Just let me kiss you, Vegard. I know you feel the same way, you have to, I can’t—please, just let me do it and you’ll understand.”

Vegard was as frightened as he was confused. “No.”

“ _Please_.”

Vegard meant to step backwards, he really did, but it was as though something pulled him forward, something drew him even closer to his brother and now he could feel the hot breath mixing with his own, their lips so close. It was when Bård closed his eyes that he really consciously noticed what he was doing, that he was actually doing it, that he was fulfilling Bård’s wish and actually kissing him on his own accord. Vegard did it. He brushed his mouth to his brother’s cheek at first, as though to test what he had been told to do, but when Bård moved his head and let their lips ghost over the other’s, he pushed his thoughts away and went all the way in; he kissed him, a real kiss that sent his insides on roller-coaster rides, his heart pulsating painfully against his chest, his arms around the neck of the taller man.

None had a clear perception of how long it lasted; it could have been just seconds, or minutes, or hours. It was unlike anything either of them could have ever imagined, an unfamiliar jolt of lust surfacing on their skin wherever they touched, an unknown need that buzzed their heads, their bodies striving to get closer and closer and begging not to be separated. It was only when Bård relocated his lips to Vegard’s neck when the older man’s thoughts began to glue themselves together from the shattered mess they had become, and he let out a “Wait, no, we shouldn’t… why are we doing this?”, which was determinately ignored. He had to push at Bård’s torso to move him away, and at first Bård was reluctant to do so, but he eventually obliged, and wide, brown eyes met the dilated pupils of Bård’s blue.

“Do you understand me now, Vegard?” It was barely above a whisper, and a husky one at that too, sending a shocking wave down Vegard’s spine.

He struggled to form a response. “No,” he hummed lazily, unconvincingly.

“I know you do,” insisted the younger one, but did not attempt another kiss, instead he just flung both his hands on Vegard’s shoulders, allowing a tiny smile to play his lips as he inspected his brother.

“Yes—maybe, alright, but I don’t understand this, I—“

Bård pulled him in for a hug. A gentle one, requiring no commitment, only soothing the man and giving him time to sort his pondering mind.

“We have to work it out together,” said Bård in his ear, lightly, and wrapped his arms even tighter. But Vegard wouldn’t return the embrace. “I know you feel the same say.”

Vegard sighed. His thoughts seemed to be spinning with the speed of light and he desperately needed a break; he had to cool down and to take all of what had happened in, properly. “You don’t know anything, Bård,” he at last voiced steadily, yet still unable to wrap his mind around what had truly happened. How could it be? Where had it come from? He was only honest when he denied that he felt the same way, or at the very least, such thoughts had never as much as brushed him. And hearing now the man who knew him best say that he must be feeling the same way, that he too must be in love with his sibling… Goodness, he needed sleep.

And when silence permeated the air, the brothers parted wordlessly and returned to their own spots on the bed as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They often slept together, but never like this—or perhaps it only felt all different in Vegard’s head. Bård had his eyes shut already, laying on his back, and Vegard knew it would only take a few minutes for his brother to drift off to peaceful sleep. Or would it? Could it be possible that tonight would be an exception and that Bård would lay restless? Vegard felt guilty, as though he had mistreated his brother, pushed him away even… It was then he felt the urge to do something, to say something, to perhaps make it up to Bård somehow, to convince him everything would be alright; he’d looked so pale earlier, so confused.

Before he could think over his actions, or what they would eventually lead to, he stretched his neck and kissed Bård’s cheek. The younger man smiled instantly, and very subtly cuddled a little closer to his brother. Vegard did not try to escape, and plainly settled in his pillow, sincerely hoping that it wouldn’t be too long of a night and that the morning would bring some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmph, this was supposed be a fluffy chapter. Hopefully it's not too bad!


	7. Six weeks earlier

“A little more to the left,” yelped Vegard breathlessly in half-command.

“I cannot possibly go any— _argh!_ —further,” came from the other man.

Vegard shut his eyes tight as he fought to handle the pressure. “Well you better find a goddamn way before—“

“Oh fucking hell, Vegard, just shut up and try to be helpful for a moment. This is bloody _painful_.”

“Well I can’t hold it anymore! If you moved a little to the left—“

The blonde man exhaled heavily before he cut him off. “Do I look like I’m bloody capable of doing that?”

“Excuse me for thinking we’re supposed to be doing this _together_! Which means you have to freaking adjust to the other person!”

“Remind me why we’re doing this at all?”

Vegard grunted. “Fucking hell, Calle, can’t we just get on with it instead of wasting breath on unnecessary questions? We can’t very well go back, now can we?”

“Maybe if we tried to—“ Calle began dubiously, but he was silenced by a loud banging noise.

“Ow! Argh!” howled the dark-haired man and jumped back as far as the little space would allow him. “My finger!” he screeched in explanation, and Calle realized his mistake then. He should have at least attempted to go a little to the left instead of comfortably settling in his role of stubbornness. Luckily, the feet of the unreasonably heavy table they’d been carrying did not crash on either’s toes. It was all in all, a painless act. _Almost_.

“Aren’t there employees or something to be doing this instead of us?” wondered Calle sincerely, raising a hand to wipe away the sweat from his brow.

“Don’t start complaining now,” warned Vegard with a _tsk_ as he inspected his injured finger more closely.

Calle scoffed at his tone. “I won’t if you tell me what it is that we’ve achieved here!” He eyed up their positions pointedly; the table had collapsed midway out the door frame, Vegard stuck between one flat end and a windowed wall, and on the other side Calle, seemingly comfortably leaned on the dusty wall but still scrunched in the far left where Vegard had insisted he’d move farther. Oh well, he could have done that had he sucked his stomach in, although not much would be achieved, really. Not that the skinny man would know for sure, as he had not even tried.

“We’ve almost managed to carry the table out of the hallway,” Vegard pointed out sardonically. He then sighed at how bad of an idea the whole process had really been. “ _Almost_ ,” he repeated to emphasize a little tiredly.

Calle shook his head at his friend. “Why I agreed to help you is beyond me.”

“Probably because it is your skit we’re preparing for,” came the unasked-for answer that was spoken as though it was the most obvious thing on the planet.

Calle raised his brows promptly at the remark. “Are you trying to pin this on me, then?”

“Well it _is_ your skit, is it not?” Vegard defended matter-of-factly.

“Oh, shut up, Vegard, this was all _your_ idea.”

It was the black-haired man’s turn to shake his head. He then went on to take another look at his finger. He gave it all his attention. “It’s bleeding,” he noted plainly as he watched the scratch closely, although there was barely any blood to be spotted.

Sighing irritably, Calle attempted to get away. It took some struggling in the tight space and Vegard observed him, amused. Calle was aware of the eyes he had on him, but did not react; they didn’t feel intrusive, and it made the whole scene seem funnier. “I’ll go out for a smoke,” he announced casually, as though it had been the plan all along, when he at last managed to slip away from the where he’d been trapped, not doing much to acknowledge his little victory.

“Hey, what about me?” Vegard protested as the other one moved away step by step. “I’m still stuck here!”

“Just climb over the damn thing!” his friend shouted in response before he completely disappeared from sight.

Vegard let out one heavy breath. Calle had been right, they really did have employees to transfer objects from one room to another, and despite it, he had foolishly suggested they do the job themselves to save time, while everyone was busy setting up a huge banner or whatever it was—Vegard had, unusually, not paid much attention—above the main stage.

As he followed Calle’s suggestion, finding it only half helpful, sitting upon the wooden surface before sliding over it, he concluded that it was all a consequence him not having slept very well the previous night. He definitely lacked concentration, and it might have well been accounted for by lack of sleep alone. He felt that there was no particular reason to why he hadn’t slept though; he had simply tossed and turned in the covers while his wife slept on the other side of the bed peacefully, adding to his irritation as he could not do the same. He didn’t know why.

Well, maybe (most definitely, actually) it had been because of a disturbing conversation he and his brother had shared with their father a few days back, but he struggled to push it out of his head.

So when he went over to the main stage and a man handed him the daily mail, he double-checked one envelope to make sure it was really unsigned, at first convinced his weariness was playing tricks on him. It seemed a bit suspicious from the very moment his eye caught it, but he pointedly ignored it as he went through the other letters. Something about it tied a knot in his gut. What could it be, damn it? He gave up trying to ignore it and tore it open almost impatiently. The paper inside was folded twice, and as he worked to undo it, a few of the other envelopes slipped from his grasp and crashed on the floor nearly soundlessly, but he paid no mind to them. A passing man—probably the guy who worked with the costumes or something, Vegard decided after a quick glance at him—helpfully bent over to try to gather the papers, but Vegard waved him off. The man seemed a little confused for a bit, but then stepped aside respectfully. Within a moment, Vegard’s entire focus had returned to the note in his hand, which was flawlessly white save the four words scribbled upon it.

_I know your secret._

Vegard stared at the lousy handwriting, unblinking. His jaw dropped. He re-read the words a couple of times, feeling more nauseated with each passing second. He turned the paper, only to find another sentence on the back, written in smaller letters, either randomly or quite intentionally so.

_Put an end to it._

And that was all. He turned the paper over and over in his hand, but in vain—there was nothing else written on it. Squashing it in his fist, he darted his eyes all over the stage to locate those of his brother. When he spotted Bård right across the room, the man was laughing. Vegard felt the pit of his stomach turn as he subconsciously made the steps that closed the gap between them, and he cleared his throat as he came before his brother and the two men he was conversing with. When he failed to gain anyone’s attention, he repeated the action a little more loudly and called “Bård?” in a tone which only his brother could properly interpret.

Bård turned to face him, suddenly wearing a more serious expression. “Yeah?” he questioned cautiously.

“Could you, um, come to the dressing room with me for a second?”

The younger brother nodded immediately and excused them both. With rather hasty steps they retreated to the so far still completely empty space, in unison, and when they were inside, Vegard shut the door urgently. His brother met him with puzzled eyes, and Vegard shoved the note into the other’s hand. The younger man looked a little perplexed for a few moments, but then removed his eyes from the face of his brother and straightened the piece of paper with both his hands. He read the cursive words, and then flipped it to the other side, scanned the second part of the message and let out a sneer.

“What, is this some kind of joke?” he wondered sincerely.

Vegard widened his brown eyes slightly in response, but remained mute.

“What the hell? Who gave you this?” asked Bård, his voice sounding almost dismissive, bewildered.

Vegard shrugged, his eyes falling to a blank point ahead. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, lowly. “I don’t know.”

Bård hummed as he watched him, falling in thought for a couple of seconds. He considered options, anything that would offer an explanation, but could not form any conclusion at all. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”

A hollow “no” was the only thing offered to him.

“So what, how did you get it?”

“It was with the other mail…”

“But what’s the fucking point? Is this the only thing it said? Didn’t it ask for money or something?”

The older man shook his head dismally and tried to shush his brother’s loud voice with a stern look.

“Huh. What’s the point?” Bård repeated sheepishly.

Their eyes met for a split second, before the older one slipped past the other and made his way across the room. Bård’s eyes followed him as Vegard struggled with the decision of where to stop standing, and then met those of his brother when the other finally settled in a spot.

“Do you think it’s dad?”

Vegard furrowed his forehead, his eyebrows flying up high, and shook his head again. “No, why would dad send us a stupid note? Jesus, Bård. He already said all he had to say to us two days ago.”

The younger brother sighed, becoming increasingly worried as the complexity of the situation and the lack of reasoning that so characterized it. “Then—“

“There’s nothing more to it, Bård,” Vegard said, firmly. “Don’t you think we’ve had enough signs by now?”

“What are you trying to suggest?” Bård asked, suspiciously, noticeably displeased with where the conversation was headed.

 Vegard raised his shoulders momentarily and dropped them just as swiftly, feeling defeated. “That maybe we should just do it…”

“Do what?” pressed the other. Although Bård knew what his brother was referring to exactly, he clung onto the loose strands of denial as firmly as he could. He would not let Vegard drag himself out of this easily; no, not if he could help it.

Vegard looked his younger brother over, his sad eyes complementing the pure remorse radiating from his tired form. “Put an end to it,” he said lowly at last, and spun around so he wouldn’t have to face the receiving end of the words, as though that could somehow help him feel better about himself.

But Bård would have none of it. He was quick to find his way in front of the other man. “You don’t mean that,” he said almost nonchalantly.

Vegard looked up at him, really looking at his brother this time. He studied him closely, admitting to himself how much love he felt for the man and how he could simply not deny it, but also acknowledging how twisted it was what they were doing. What they were feeling. How wrong and frowned upon their relationship would be, were it to appear before the public eye. How it couldn’t go on, how he shouldn’t let it—he was the older one, damn it, he bore more responsibility in accordance to an unwritten rule!—because the consequences they were facing otherwise were enormous. Their career, their reputation—heck, their entire lives were at stake. What exactly had they done to deserve this though, really? It was like a cruel fate, or even a curse they had been dealt; how else could such powerful love between two siblings be described? Vegard felt as though he was suffering a penalty for something he could not help, the unfairness of the situation making his eyes burn with tears that weren’t there.

He looked into the sad blue eyes of his most loved one and asked himself whether it was really worth it; all the sneaking around, all the risks. If loving his brother in such a sinister way could be reasoned about at all, its justification would be how _right_ it felt to the both of them.

When he lifted himself on his toes to plant a kiss over the lips of his brother, he had only that thought in mind. He somehow needed to test if it was worth it, and he felt oblivious to anything else. He touched his lips against the softer ones gently, yet prying them apart only slightly. And when his brother did not kiss him back, he staggered back, confused. The chaos in his head grew when he noticed the widened eyes that were no longer focused on him. He was almost afraid to see what they had spotted, but despite the knot tied so hard in his stomach he felt an urge to fold himself double, he turned around.

He instantly recognized Calle’s form at the doorframe, his still holding the knob, the door wide open. Vegard felt as if about to faint.

Before either of the brothers could say anything, the blonde man emitted a high-pitched sound, following up a rushed “I didn’t see anything!” before he slammed the door shut again and left the two men to themselves once more.

The brothers shared one glance before they both ran out of the dressing-room simultaneously. Within moments they spotted Calle walking away, and Vegard called out his name in an attempt to make him stop. It was a success; the man froze in his spot and allowed the two Ylvisåkers to catch up with him easily. But what for? The three of them stood there, every set of eyes avoiding another, unspoken words hanging dead into the air as none knew what to say.

It was Calle who found it in him to speak first. “I won’t tell anyone, okay?” he attempted uselessly, and although both the other men trusted him, each felt that more had to be said. "I swear, I'll just pretend like I never saw anything."

“God, Calle,” Bård began, but knew not what else to say.

Calle looked at him expectantly, and then seemed almost annoyed. But it was all a mask; he was utterly uncomfortable. “We don’t have to talk about it, alright? I’ll ignore it forever on,” he supplied helpfully, hoping he’d be presented a chance to get away and try to forget what he had just seen. It had been disturbing on too many levels.

But the brothers cornered him persistently, remaining awkwardly silent. And it was so, until an idea came to Bård. “Did you do it?” he accused cynically.

Both Vegard and Calle eyed him up questioningly.

“Do what?” the blonde man wondered sincerely.

“You know,” Bård added in a hushed whisper, “send the letter.”

Calle blinked repeatedly and did not appear to have any clue whatsoever as to what he was referring to. Even Vegard looked at him as though he had gone temporarily mad, to which he shrugged in response, sending a ‘just checking’ grimace.

“What kind of letter are you talking about?” Called asked after a few short moments.

Without much thought, Bård shoved the scrunched-up note at Calle’s torso, much like his brother had done to him earlier. The man hesitantly took it, eyeing up the brothers as he did so, as though they were setting him up for something he wasn’t up to, much like revealing their— _Goodness, what the heck did I just see?_   flashed through Calle’s head, interrupting his chain of thoughts. Shrugging inwardly, he subconsciously cleared his throat and tried not to stare at the men he knew too well, but not well enough, apparently. He read all the words on both sides of the note in a matter of moments and looked up defensively as though by instinct. He wondered if the accusation had been serious at all. When no signs would give him relief, he sighed, irritated.

“I didn’t write this—c’mon, you know my handwriting!”

Bård twitched and folded his arms at his chest doubtfully. He considered Calle’s words for a while, and although he found them reasonable, he was in a somehow desperate need of an explanation and would settle to just about any. “Do you know who could have, then?”

Calle shook his head dismissively.[  
](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3284156/chapters/new#)

Vegard felt his face take on an ever deeper shade of crimson as the situation was becoming more heavily uncomfortable with each passing second. He bit his lip. A little hesitantly, he pulled at his brother’s arm, urging him to leave the third man alone, who used this opportunity to try to escape once more. The brothers let him go in this round, and without another word, they watched Calle depart and headed back towards the dressing room. A loud _click_ signified that the door was closed, much like it should had been earlier.

“What are we gonna do?” Vegard was quick to wonder, sounding almost desperate.

Bård ran a hand through his hair, thinking about it for a few seconds, and walked over to stand close to his brother. “I don’t know. It must be a joke or something,” he suggested unsteadily, not even believing his own words.

“God, Bård, all this person has to do is send this to the press and—“

“Shh,” the younger one silenced him and pressed his hands on the other’s shoulders. “It wouldn’t do anything. Think about it—it’s some random person’s word against ours. Who would believe such a thing anyway?”

Vegard didn’t seem assured at all. “I don’t know, Bård,” he mumbled, “maybe they have a picture or something to prove it…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” his brother said with a chuckle, “we’ve been careful.”

“Careful?” cited Vegard a little loudly, but did not move away. “We’ve been anything but, Bård! Our dad—and Jesus, Calle now, we have been so reckless—“

“Calm down, Vegard,” urged Bård and moved a hand to the other man’s cheek soothingly. “Calle won’t tell anyone. He wouldn’t. And dad—you were there when he said he’d do just about _anything_ to keep it a secret; isn’t that reassuring enough? We’re fine!”

Vegard pursed his lips tightly. Suddenly, he felt more tired than ever, as though stuck in a dream that gradually morphed into a nightmare, one without an escape. “Yes, but don’t forget that he demanded we put an end to it immediately,” he reminded, guilt plaguing his honest conscience. He never liked to disobey, especially when it meant deepening his mistakes, making it all the more difficult to correct them. _I am so tired of myself_ , he though wearily, and sincerely wondered how it was that the man who stood in front of him did not reciprocate the feeling.

“We’ll be more careful,” insisted Bård, and before his brother could voice any retort, he leaned in and kissed him. For a few moments Vegard was reluctant to kiss him back, but eventually he did exactly that, with a new form of urgency that came out of nowhere, as though it could somehow remove him from this place and take him somewhere where everything as okay, where _they_ were okay.

And then he realized; they would never truly be okay, anywhere.


	8. Two weeks later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now is as good of a time as any to mention that, first of all, English is not my first language, and then that I am no lawyer and have no idea how the law works. So please excuse all inaccuracies that might follow and take the chapter for what it is; another addition to the messy plot!
> 
> A special thank-you to my lovely friend known on AO3 as CatherineFox for helping me out with how all the court stuff work! You are the best, babe! <3

“All rise!” the bailiff’s voice thundered. The judge settled on his chair and gestured lazily for those present to take their seats once more.

“This is the hearing in the case of the allegations against Maria Ylvisåker,” the judge said, now suddenly solemn, as he took a quick look around the room, identifying and acknowledging all the different parties.

Cases with no real motive were always a drag, he thought, and the police stood as firmly behind the accusation that it had indeed been Maria Ylvisåker who had committed the murder, despite the shady evidence they held against the woman, as she stood in her claims of innocence. This one, like so many trials before it, had become a rather long and boring procedure, punctuated only by brief moments of intense drama. When the prosecutor on the behalf of the detectives cited the same evidence yet again as the court gathered once more, he had absolutely no clue that by the end of the day’s trial Maria would reveal a scandalous truth that would, in every way, make the entire case easier to finally solve, and that this trial then, at last, would receive the drama it so sorely lacked.

The court clerk now raised his voice:

“The prosecuted, Maria Ylvisåker, is called to the stand.”

All other sounds of the court were suddenly dominated by the determined steps of the accused, as she made her way to the place she had been directed. The moment she reached the target, a book was placed right in front of her, and she received an instruction: “Put your hand on the bible and repeat after me.”

She peeked at the man who was holding the book, only to be met with quite a young face.

“I swear that the evidence that I shall give,” he cited, and she repeated loud and clear after him. “Shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God,” she echoed his words, all serious.

“You may sit down,” Maria was told.

As she calmly took her seat, the clerk spoke once more:

“State your full name for the court.”

“Maria Ylvisåker,” she declared with a steady voice, considering for half a second to state her maiden name, to distance herself from her husband, who had done nothing to support her through this. Her eyes searched the room for a second before she found him, tapping his foot where he sat across the room, watching her, what, impatiently? Nervously? She couldn’t tell. If she was to be honest to herself, she didn’t care much. She smiled at him, for no reason other than to show him how well she was holding up without him.

She turned her eyes back at the sound of another man clearing his throat. This time it was the prosecutor, who took a second to readjust his tie before standing up and turning to the jury:

“The fingerprints of the main suspect were found on the murder weapon among no others, proving that Mrs. Ylvisåker is the only person with the means to kill the victim in the way that has been done. She also lacks a convincing alibi, thus giving her every opportunity to perform the murder, and she has no less motive than any of the previously considered suspects, making her indeed the main suspect on all accounts. The prosecution remains firm in their stand that Maria Ylvisåker is guilty!”

His words were not, by any means, news, and when he made a dramatic pause, Maria’s leg began to involuntarily tap, very much matching the motions of her husband across the room. It then became impeccably clear to her how impatient she was for this to be over, for the charges to be at last dropped; she had faith in her lawyer, and trusted him to win the case.

The judge turned to Maria, his expression devoid of any emotion as he asked: “How do you plead?”

Maria locked eyes with him, knowing the irony of the situation, since it was a question she needed to answer and it violated her right to remain silent. It was a nonsensical bit of the law, certainly, but she didn’t care about that either. If there was one lesson she had learned flawlessly in her life, it was that people didn’t tell the truth. “Not guilty,” she said, feeling confident. She even smiled when her hired lawyer addressed her a reassuring nod. She was innocent, after all.

The prosecutor nodded, seemingly pleased with her answer, and drew a breath to continue:

“After some investigation, the prosecution has found new evidence in support of the accusations made against Maria Ylvisåker.”

Maria’s heart stopped, or so it felt. Her pulse suddenly raced, and she felt her eyes widen with new terror. She was innocent. She knew she was, so what had they found? As the prosecutor opened his mouth to address her once more, she hung on his every word.

“Did you not receive a large sum of money just two days before your husband had called in to report the murder, a sum considerable enough that it for someone may be considered sufficient for performing a murder, money that you extracted from your account not long after the transfer?” he attacked with a line of questions, being young and mildly inexperienced he thought it was the best technique he could pull off.

The woman swallowed hard. Silently, she prayed that her quickened heart beat was not noticed by everyone, and that she would find it in herself to keep her composure calm. She had feared this. She had feared that her latest financial dealings would come to light were the detective to dig any further into the matter of her case. She was aware they would be considered suspicious, as they very much were.

She was about to open her mouth to confirm what the prosecutor had asked, when she suddenly twitched in her seat. The pause, only a second long, had allowed her to register what the now smirking man had added in between the clauses, something she’d almost missed for the sound of blood rushing through her ears.

“No amount of money would be enough to make me kill someone!” she objected, a bit too loudly.

“Just answer the question,” the young man, who had now stretched to his full height, as if preparing to reap the glory of his victory over her, said contemptuously, as if she were a child who had just broken off into an unseemly tantrum among grown-ups. “Was it you who cashed the deposit, Mrs. Ylvisåker?”

“Yes,” she answered plainly without wasting a second.

The prosecutor turned to the jury, the unprofessional smirk still on his face. Even his eyes were glistening.

“Today, we have established, besides means and opportunity, a solid motive. Can there be a reasonable doubt anymore?”

Before anyone could object to him addressing the jury, yet another tactless move as a consequence to lack of experience, he turned back to Maria, although whispers echoed in the courtroom.

“Who gave you the money, Mrs. Ylvisåker?” he asked quickly, as if firing the question at her would force her to confess her supposed guilt.

The woman stared at him in disbelief. “I was not paid by anyone!” she denied once more, a little more loudly than she had intended.

“And yet the evidence—already presented to the court—states the opposite.”

She blinked in her bewilderment. “I wasn’t paid by anyone to kill!” she repeated determinately, quite notably flushed.

The prosecutor nodded. “And yet you admitted it, just moments ago.”

“Yes, I was given a large sum, but for completely different reasons that have nothing to do with the murder!”

“You did not answer my question, Mrs Ylvisåker.” When the woman did not even flicker, he was obliged to repeat it. “Who gave you the money?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I was given the money, instead of making your own false accusations?” she asked, not attempting to hide the malice in her tone, “Isn’t that a more logical question, since you seemed to be more focused on it previously?”

He seemed baffled at her response, but got a hold on himself in time. “You will answer the questions that I ask, but we could start there, if you’d prefer. In fact, I believe the answer would bring this case to a rest,” he ended sarcastically, the utterance barely audible. “So, why were you given the money?”

The woman darted her eyes across the room, letting them land on the man she would speak of.

“I wanted to leave my husband,” she stated, suddenly calm. Bård returned the gaze, his expression clearly showing that he had not been unaware of her decision. He had known she was bound to do just that, after what she had learned and confronted him about. He would certainly have walked out on himself had he been in her shoes.

The attorney awaited her to proceed, however, when she did not, he took a step forward. “And, you needed a lot of money to leave him?”

Maria nodded, before adding a low “yes”, breaking the eye contact between herself and Bård.

“Would you care to elaborate, Mrs Ylvisåker, or should I return to my initial question?”

The woman sucked in a large breath. She knew that saying what she was about to would draw in as much trouble as it would do her good, but she felt cornered, robbed of another choice. The brief eye-contact between Nelsen and her indicated that he was aware of what she was about to speak of, and he approved. There was a tiny glint in the man’s eye. Perhaps the spark that would light the fire of a case won. The irrevocable communication gave Maria confidence, because Nelsen must have figured out how to work with the information she had given him by now. Otherwise, he would have most likely advised her not to voice it in court.

“My husband was cheating on me,” she spoke clearly, struggling to keep her voice steady, and everyone who was present in the room seemed to inhale one heavy, soundly breath in unison. She saw Bård staring at her, unblinking. She saw the terror in his eyes.

Whispers spread through the courtroom almost immediately, so much so that the judge had to intertwine. “Order! We shall have order!” he furiously exclaimed, for his courtroom was no place for such behavior.

As the room calmed and silenced, everyone’s eyes were plastered either accusingly on the husband or skeptically on Maria, both of them having eyes only for each other. Bård wore a look drenched in a persistent warning, sending a clear message that she should know when to stop herself from crossing a line. One he desperately needed to keep uncrossed. But Maria was expressionless, cold. For once, it was time to put herself first, instead the man she had loved—and for so many years!

The prosecutor looked conflicted. He realized that Maria’s words made things easier for him. What she provided could be twisted into motive, something both he and the DA’s office had struggled to find for weeks now, and it could be much better than the money angle they had been playing previously, of course when viewed from the right perspective. And he felt confident that he could drag such a scenario from the accused. However, there was a small fact that got him feeling uneasy; Nelsen appeared quite calm at her reckless statement. The prosecutor struggled to find a meaning; anything that could help him act quickly, pursuing the situation to the full potential of advantage it offered. He needed to somehow turn this all to fit his accusation, but nothing would come to mind. “And you needed the money to get away from your husband?” he asked at last, once more, with the sole intention to stall.

“Yes,” Maria calmly stated in return. “Perhaps you should call him to the stand so he could clear up the nature of his affair,” she added firmly. “It is, after all, more scandalous than anything you hold or ever will hold against me.”

Although the courtroom could have fallen into chatter once more, the people remained silent and expectant. The prosecutor sensed trouble when it neared, his previous self-assuredness almost completely washed away, and he cursed himself inwardly for being unable to do anything productive but stall. But he most definitely was an intelligent man, and it he sincerely tried to find any hidden implications of the statement. He finally decided that whatever was going on, the confidence in the woman’s voice and in Nelsen’s face could only mean one thing: they wanted to bring it into the open, and that probably meant he should not allow it. He could however not simply leave it, and so he tried to take control of the situation:

“Mrs. Ylvisåker, it is your turn on the stand for the moment. However, whatever reasoning you might provide, I think one conclusion stands still above all,” he made a typical dramatic pause, and considered his following words, wishing only to find the perfect phrasing. “Did you commit the murder with the intention to injure your husband? To get revenge for his betrayal?”

“No!”

Maria had yelled it, unable to contain herself, and she was once again all flushed, “I had nothing to do with the murder!” she exclaimed, almost jumping to her feet. “If you want to point fingers at someone, there he is!” she shouted as she pointed at Bård, who had a pained expression painted all over him. “Did you not hear me? My husband cheated on me and I wanted to get away so I would have nothing to do with that man, ever again, and I wanted to take my children away from him. That’s why I needed the money. I needed to get away from a man who would throw away all the years we’ve had together, all the years of building a family, of loving each other, of doing everything together; all of that so he could have an affair with his own _brother_!”

And then she went silent, sucking in large breaths as she struggled to calm down.

There was a joint gasp in the courtroom, but it was the silence that followed it that was absolute. The dramatic twist of the trial that she and Nelsen had designed had finally come about, and the scandal was complete.

“I did not commit a murder,” Maria added almost whispering, but no one seemed to pay any attention on her.

Piercing silence filled the room, but to one person the silence felt more akin to the joined voices of everyone present, screaming in his ears. All heads were now turned to look at Bård. His gaze, in turn, was focused on the only person in the room who avoided him determinately. When their eyes met, though, Calle read the irrevocable accusation.

“I didn’t tell her,” the older man mouthed, but it didn’t really matter.

Bård knew who had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is nearing its's end! I haven't written much of the following chapters, and I can't promise a very quick update as I am swamped with Uni and the occasion of the Stockholm concert shall keep me busy for a whole week in Sweden, but I shall try my best.  
> Has the disorganized order of the chapters been confusing? Please give me your thoughts! 
> 
> Much love to every reader!


	9. Two and a half weeks later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everything feels like it's falling apart, that's when we take a good look at ourselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set only days after the last one.

Depression was the unseen, silent killer. At least that was what Bård would have sworn on.

He sat all morning in the same armchair, unmoving and unspeaking, positioned in front of the unlit fireplace. The house was entirely empty, but that made no difference to the rueful man. He would have made sure to be isolated either way. He needed time for his thoughts and he would not let anything disrupt him. Not even the awful atmosphere would he allow to shift him; it was freezing cold that morning, but he wouldn’t bother to even pick up a blanket or put on an extra sweater. Perhaps Bård thought that maybe, _just maybe_ , the low temperature would talk some sense into him, replacing the hurricane in his head with boring thoughts about the weather, or perhaps he had simply no will left to do anything at that point, or rather felt like everything was useless and pointless. He wasn’t sure himself.

Whatever state he was in, however, the cause for it was obvious:

He felt _alone_.

He _was_ alone.

And as he blocked his vision and threw his head back, shutting his eyes tight and his consciousness out of the world, he found himself on a snowy, windy mountain behind his eyelids. It was as though he was really there, just as immobile as he had been only minutes previously, staring at the blatant whiteness. Then the blizzard in the dream removed the illusion of eyes, and without that limitation, he was no longer alone. He began to feel connected with everything in the world that had once kept him busy with inputs of all sorts; inspiring and providing things to see, to hear, to touch and feel, which kept his mind anchored in time and space. Uncomplicated things. From when the world had been a place where he hadn’t screwed up so, so bad. He saw that he was only a tiny piece of the complex parts that composed life and he felt it was now his turn to carry the world on his shoulders. His burdens truly felt as heavy, at the very least.

But as the white flakes whirled around him in an angry vortex, he realized that although he could feel the weight of everything, he was alone in that as well, as alone as he would have been in the bleakness of space; and he was cold, so cold.

There was no escaping his position. There was no running away from the fact that his life was falling apart. That he had ruined everything. All his relationships; with his parents, his friends, his wife, his children, his _brother_. What now? He had really done it now, though all he had attempted was to fix things, to get everything back on track. To do what he so strongly felt was right… Oh, he had _really_ screwed up now.

And what an idiot he had been—what an idiot he was.

In his dream he brought a hand to cover his eyes, fighting away warm tears that were welling up in his eyes, hiding from his own shame and remorse, quite unsuccessfully for the stubborn person he was. Nothing could be done about the guilt, it was too late now. There was no time or space where he could fix all he had done wrong. Exhaling heavily, he opened his eyes once more and allowed them to brace the almost unnatural brightness of the landscape in his dream.

Silently and a bit too cautiously, he reached out one gloved hand, perhaps to grasp something, to find something to hold on to, maybe even something as symbolic as a solution to everything, but there was nothing for him anywhere. All he could see was white, such a cursed opposite from the blackness he so thoroughly felt. And it wasn’t pleasant at all. To save his eyes from the blinding bright texture of the freshly fallen snow, he narrowed them until they were almost shut, and all the while the wind raged without end, only reducing its ferocity long enough to gather the strength for another attack. Another reminder that there was no running away.

And yet he would not give up. He was a fighter. He wanted a chance to regroup, to make things better, even though all he had so far attempted to heal had been undone. Despite the completeness of his failure. All his heart could do was pump warm blood, refusing to surrender, in a hope that the storm would at last end. All his mind could do was plan the most logical path to warmth, safety and to something more tangible than light and snow. Something healthier than the depression that was creeping in his very core.

All he wanted was a fresh beginning. There were so many things he would do over. 

Oh, but if only he could get what he wanted, only that and nothing else...

And when he awoke with a start, he realized that even his restless dreams were haunted by his screw ups. He couldn’t escape even when he was asleep. In his humorless state he found it in himself to sound one sarcastic chuckle.

He had had to hire a lawyer, something he never expected he would have to do for anything unrelated to business matters. The prosecution was starting to build a case against him as well, although they were still firmly fixed against his wife. Apparently her lawyer had assessed enough doubt to shift the blame slightly towards him, although Bård couldn’t know what it was he had said—he had gone deaf during the previous trial the moment Maria had revealed the affair between the brothers to the hearing ears of an entire courtroom, and consequentially to the entire world. And there was a good reasoning for it—for what she had revealed—, really, enough to raise insecurity among the jury, although it could be traced back to her—all of the sides of the story. They could have easily locked her up at that point, however the circumstances were too suspicious to the judge and the detectives were obliged to delve into further investigation.

They had visited Bård’s home once more, as if he needed even more invasions into his privacy. With a bleak smile and dark circles under his eyes, Bård had let them in, allowing them to go through some of his personal things, commenting their ‘aha’s and ‘aham’s as they walked around with tiny steps, observing every detail to great extent. With tight smiles they left after an hour. The initial search had been made weeks previously and the house had been swiped through every little corner during the processing of the murder scene, resulting it a quite ridiculous intention to try to find some new lead, but the prosecution was after all burdened, and grasping for evidence to close the case which in a certain light seemed unsolvable. Bård was pleased to let them return to the station disappointed; _what did they expect to find anyway?_ he bitterly thought.

He had no idea how to act around the police.

The best advice his lawyer had given him was to keep his mouth shut whenever he was approached by the press. That, however, had been a rather redundant consultation. Bård had not left his home for even a minute since the trial, and he would have remained in the same armchair, had he not been required to appear in court again.

He did not at all enjoy having to face the outside.

It was another boring procedure and a very much less dramatic one than the last, the following trial. The best Bård’s lawyer had produced was a witness, a fan who had dropped off a present at Bård’s doorstep only an hour previous to the approximated time of the murder. The girl had approached him herself, willing to help and very enthusiastic to be what she herself described as “ _the ideal fan”._

“I was there for half an hour after I left the package,” she said shyly, flicking her eyes towards Bård for a split second; “just walking around his house, looking through the windows. I wanted to catch a glimpse of him, maybe somehow win his attention and get him to talk to me. But he was nowhere to be seen.”

Bård recognized the girl. He had met her a several times, in fact; she was always around, seemingly following whatever Ylvis were up to. Even Vegard had noticed. She couldn’t be older than twenty, Bård concluded as he stared at her from his own seat, but right now she would not meet his eye. Her small frame was positioned so that she could only see her idol from her peripheral vision, but not even that would she allow herself. She faced the lawyer who kept on asking her questions, building his case, and she obligingly provided whichever information put Bård in the best light.

“I’ve met him,” she told the court. “I’ve met both Bård and Vegard. They were so nice to me, so patient and gentle with their fans and everyone else. They are angels, none of them would ever do anything to harm anyone, I assure you.”

She had said it a little more boldly than she had anything else she’d previously uttered, and had the situation been any less serious, it would have sounded quite a naïve and ridiculous statement. But the judge nodded and the lawyer smiled, satisfied, and with one last bow and a couple of words, the latter returned to his seat next to Bård.

It was when the girl walked away from the stand that she finally looked at Bård properly. She was smiling, though her eyes appeared shiny with tears, and Bård made sure to send one small smile in return, although he was in no mood to be nice. Nor did his mood improve when he caught a glimpse of Maria shooting him a sad, sad look. His gaze lingered on the woman, reading the expression of her face with the proficiency only years and years together could achieve. _How did we get here_? she was asking him silently, _What happened to us?_ her eyes screamed, but Bård could not bring himself to return a telepathic message. He just shrugged and looked away, feeling a set of anger boiling up inside him, struggling to reach surface.

It was feeling guilt that he hated the most. He had really fucked up and he could not stand another minute of it.

Although he was wondering about the same things his wife unquestionably was, there was one thing that bothered him more: How had he ended up so alone? He had always had so many people around who loved and admired him, who respected him. People who would have done anything for him and for whom he would probably have done just as much. Like his wife, his lovely Maria who had been his first real love, the woman he could always lean on. The woman he loved, and the woman he had hurt and damaged beyond repair… And his father, who could no longer look him in the eye properly. Who had not even attempted to defend his son, completely disgusted by what he had seen between the brothers. His mother, who had been so angry to have been kept ignorant that she did not even hug Bård after she had discovered the affair between her eldest sons at the same time everyone else had. Even though Bård could understand how to woman did not appreciate to be kept in the dark, he had still hoped that she could forgive him in her motherly way and wrap her arms around her little boy. But, he had hoped in vain.

 _Vegard_.

Bård had no one.

When he got back home with not much of his situation changed, he settled in the chair that was slowly but steadily becoming his sanctuary. He had so much to think about and process, but his mind was blank save one single word that kept lurking through his consciousness. He sat there and stared disinterestedly at the ashes in fireplace.

_Vegard, Vegard, Vegard…_

Again he had that dream, where he was on a snowy mountain, and in that world he realized that he was truly and genuinely depressed. That he no longer sought a way out, only to be given the peace to sulk and drown in the mess he had created.

A peace that was denied him, of course. The doorbell rang over and over, and Bård wondered how long the repetitiveness had been going before he awoke. His legs felt like jelly and he up-righted himself, massaging his left knee as he took long and slow steps that eventually led him to the front door. Rubbing his eyes open with the back of one hand, he opened to door with the other one and froze in his spot. He blinked once and then paused, and then once more, completely and utterly bewildered to see the woman he least expected to come over standing right in front of him.

“Helene?” Bård yelped; he couldn’t help himself. “What are you doing here?”

The woman eyed him up sternly and locked her gaze with his. “Did you just seriously ask me that?” she spat almost angrily. “How dare you,” she added more quietly, the venom in her voice all but audible.

Bård knew she was right, he had quite the cheek to even address her so naturally. But he found himself at a loss of a reaction let alone words, staring at the woman without a clue as to how to proceed.

They stood in silence for perhaps a minute, Bård avoiding Helene’s eyes that dug so deeply into him, until at last she broke the moment and loudly stormed inside the house, past the owner, without as much as an invitation. Bård stood still in his spot for another set of moments, unable to decipher the sudden situation, and then at last turned around and let the door close behind him. He followed the footsteps Helene had taken until there was only a few meters parting them.

Bård didn’t know why it had taken Helene so long to confront him after Maria’s big revelation, and that didn’t help his current situation at all. What the result would be, were he to ask, was another thing that was beyond him, so he forced himself silent and awaited the woman to break the ice.

Helene took her cue. “I came to ask you if it’s true…” she mumbled almost incoherently, her previous confidence and anger giving way to mere hurt and sadness.

Bård gulped with difficulty, taking his time to form a suitable response.

“I’ve been trying to make sense of it,” the woman proceeded, tears welling up in her eyes quite visibly, “I’ve been trying to understand… These past few days… weeks, oh God, it’s been hell,” she paused to shake her head and draw in a heavy, shaky breath, and as a wet trail formed on her cheek, Bård took a step forward instinctively, but did not dare to move any closer in order to comfort to woman. He just watched her as another tear escaped, feeling more helpless and useless than ever. It hurt, he knew that, only he didn’t know how to make the pain go away. His brother had always been the one better at comforting, and it would seem that both Helene and Bård needed his presence in the room. Only such a situation could no longer arise, and it would have been a very awkward position for each of them in any case.

Their eyes were locked indefinitely, until Helene finally spoke again.

“Oh Bård, please help me understand. Please make me forgive you for what you have done.”

She said it so softly, so gently, and yet her quivering voice was there to show how much it hurt.

Bård closed his eyes and bit on his lip very hard, the pain spreading immediately all the way to his guts. But the lump in his throat overwrote everything else he could possibly feel at the moment and although he tried to overcome it, there was nothing he could do but flutter his eyelids open once more and look at the crying woman before himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered so lowly that she probably didn’t even catch it.

“I know he wanted to do it,” said Helene, finally breaking the eye contact. Her voice had recovered, perhaps the sight of Bård’s pain gave her strength. “I know he _wanted_ to leave me.”

“Helene…”

“I know it, Bård. Don’t try to make excuses for him—just don’t. You owe me that much.”

The man fell silent. He chewed on his lower lip some more, his sharp teeth threatening to spurt blood.

Helene tilted her head slightly sideways, seemingly considering her words. Her brows were furrowed when she spoke. “Were you gonna go with him?”

Bård shook his head determinately immediately. The words felt like salt on his wounds; she had very unintentionally hit his weakest spot—the failed relationship with Vegard, the beginning of the end for what felt like the entire world for Bård. “No, Helene…”

She didn’t even wait for him to finish. “Then why? Why would he—“

But she was cut off, because Bård sprung forward and wrapped his arms around her in one swift motion, pressing her tightly at his chest and fighting away tears as she struggled to return the embrace. Eventually, her light hands found their way to the man’s back, caressing and stroking up and down until he erupted in sobs, after which she held just him just as tightly as he pressed against her.

“I n-never meant to h-hurt you,” he forced out between sobs, “Never… not you and not Maria. I swear, Helene,” and then he pulled away just as suddenly as he had hugged her, his hands cupping the woman’s cheeks and forcing her to look him in the eye. “We really loved each other, we really did. You have to understand… you have to!”

Helene nodded frantically, almost scared at the sudden outburst of emotion, but did not make an attempt to move away.

“I don’t know what I did wrong. Vegard just… he stopped loving me,” the last words he whispered, all the pain he had held onto for so long at last coming out. “He ran away from _me_ , Helene. Not from you,” he told her firmly as tears slipped from his eyes. They were in it together in some sick, twisted way.

She gazed at him with sincere concern and he felt on as though put on a spot, fully aware that the comforting should by many rules be done the other way around. He couldn’t help himself, however—he couldn’t keep a straight face no longer. Suddenly, he stepped back and turned his back on the woman, as though to hide from his weakness.

“He left _me_ ,” he said to no one in particular, the truth sounding even more painful when it echoed soundly throughout the room.

There was piercing silence that vacuumed the air for an indefinite amount of moments. They both fell into their own thoughts, some of them similar, others indescribably different from the other’s, and Bård had no perception of how much time had passed when Helene walked up to stand next to him, joining him in starting at the same blank spot ahead.

She didn’t look at him when she spoke. “He left a note,” she said gently. “I thought it was for me, but I now realize it was not.”

She silently placed a piece of paper in Bård’s palm, and after clutching his fingers around it, just as silently she went out the door she had entered.

He gathered up the strength, his breathing stopping as he unfolded the paper.

 _I’m sorry and I love you,_ it said. _I’m sorry this is too difficult for me._

An audible gasp echoed throughout the empty room, a swirl of the embroilment of emotion escaping him as his gaze remained unwavering from the words scribbled down in the familiar handwriting.

Bård knew it, though. He knew those words from his brother were meant for him before Vegard had even written them down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the story is almost dangerously coming to an end! I've been thinking about adding an extra chapter to what I originally planned, if everyone is interested, of course.
> 
> Also, I am truly sorry it took me so long to update, but between Uni and work and a week in Sweden (and freaking Ylvis!) I could barely find time to write. Thank you for reading and sticking with me and this story!


	10. Two days earlier

The sun shone brightly over the large city, promising a lovely day for all those who inhabited it. Some took their children to playgrounds while many elderly strolled the streets aimlessly, the birds cheerfully whistling melodies to enrich the atmosphere. Then there were those more daring, who jogged their usual tracks despite the weight of the sun, their exhaustion easily overcome by the energy the bright day transmitted. Then were the people who rushed to work, who barely noticed the sun, but the moods of whom were brightened still, as though somehow the light itself possessed the power to diminish stress. And then there were several people, of course, who remained unaffected by the weather, their days characterized by far stronger forces. Vegard Ylvisåker was one of them.

As soon as his wife had left with the kids, having finally, after an endless number of excuses and apologies, resolved to take them to the pool by all herself, he delved into fulfilling his intentions between the walls of his home. The guilt stung Vegard immediately, because despite his inhumanly tight schedule, he had always attempted to do as much with his family as he could, but after what he had decided to do and endeavored to achieve, he realized there was no point in trying to be a good husband and father on that particular day.

Vegard Ylvisåker had decided to run away.

Well, certainly not too far away and he’d only be gone for a few weeks, but he would do so without anyone’s knowledge of his whereabouts, just to grant himself the chance to gather his thoughts and escape his so complicated life for a short while. And he had managed to plan everything perfectly, which helped him maintain a confidence in his decision. He took the required weeks off work, which was not too difficult as they had filmed all the episodes earlier than planned. He rented a cabin not too far away, which was quite ideal for his purpose. It made it possible to return quickly, were he to change his mind, and he was going to write letters for everyone to let them know he’d be back. To tell them that they needn’t worry and that he hadn’t left them forever. To ask for their patience while he tried to get his life back on track.

Of course, it was difficult. Vegard had never done it before. He had never even considered to attempt escaping responsibilities, no matter how difficult they had gotten. But the case was such that he felt, _oh well screw it_ , he had done everything by the book his entire life and he deserved a break, and the things he was trying to run away from were certainly more odd than his temporary disappearance. He was put on edge by the relationship that had taken away all sense of naturality from his life, and he feared that if he did not take some time off from everything, he would definitely go insane. People would—could, _had to_ —understand. The one who mattered the most would, at least to some extent, understand why he’d decided to escape, though Vegard wasn’t sure he’d be _well_ understood.

He would have to inform his brother of his thoughts, somehow.

And so, with a locked door and an empty suitcase laid out, he began to gather things he would need in the main corridor, packing already being a familiar procedure to the man who travelled so often. This time, however, it felt different. More difficult, somehow. Of course, that was his emotional regret and rational fears unavoidably coming to surface. Subconsciously he avoided looking at every framed picture of his family, knowing that what he was about to do would hurt them very much. But they could handle it, couldn’t they? The children were too young to dwell on it, and were Helene to tell them that daddy was gone to work again, it wouldn’t make much difference to them. And Helene—she was strong. He would let her know he’d be back, and with a little luck she could use the time apart to her advantage as well, to perhaps somehow brace the distance that had formed into their relationship the past couple of months, and so she’d figure out ways of her own to make it work again. As for Bård… oh, Vegard had nothing to say to him. Informing him of what was going on was one thing, but he would have to bear the burden of this situation whatever way he could, that was not Vegard’s problem.

Although he had been considered everything meticulously, and decided it’d be best to disappear unseen, little did he know that a locked door was not enough to hide a man on the run. And even were Vegard to have known that someone was sneaking around his house, he would have never guessed it to be his father.

Mister Ylvisåker had travelled two hours by car and an hour by plane for a surprise visit to his eldest son, something he rarely ever did, especially without his wife, but he had his own, selfish reasons. What he least expected was to be the receiving end of the surprise. He stopped mid strut as he headed towards the back door, passing the driveway which lacked a car. Helene’s car.

The father had become a very cautious man, tiptoeing around his children, since he’d caught them doing something as obscene as they had done. Back then he had sounded his presence without as much as a thought to the consequences of his actions, but he had since learned from his mistakes. His prudence had reached an extent where he compulsively imagined possible scenarios beforehand, provided by what was laid out on the table, and now that he knew that Vegard’s wife was not home, his thoughts whirled with possibilities. It meant that Vegard was very likely alone (he knew he wasn’t at work, his wife had called a day before for a chat) because otherwise, the likelihood that Helene would drive when Vegard could do so instead was quite thin. But could he really be alone? Perhaps the man was indeed overly wary, but the image of his two sons together certainly left little room in which to picture a natural relationship existing between the brothers when he was away.

As he very openly considered the possibility of his sons being alone and together inside the house, he reasoned to himself that he had every right to watch out for such a situation. He didn’t find his conclusions to be far-fetched or ridiculous at all. Of course he hadn’t believed they’d actually quit their affair just because their father had told them so. That much he knew, even though he had a really hard time understanding how his boys could act so wrong. And so, very carefully, he began to sneak around the house, trying to see through every window he would encounter, rather than actually walking inside as he had originally intended.

When he saw Vegard stuffing things into a suitcase, his worst fears resurfaced. He didn’t even consider the option that his boys were due to another business trip. From the moment he laid his eyes on the image through the window, he thought that Bård and Vegard were planning a getaway together.

He knew he had to do something, but he didn’t quite know what.

“Hans?”

The voice startled him and he spun around, facing the second surprise of the day. “Maria?”

The woman smiled softly and watched the man for a couple of moments, and after a few gestures of confusion she took a step ahead and hugged him. “I didn’t know you were in Oslo! What brings you here?” she exclaimed and inquired when they broke apart.

Hans returned the smile. He then realized he had no proper explanation. “Oh, I uh—I just wanted to see my boys,” he clarified in his most casual tone. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” Maria hurried to reply, but her worn form told different tales. “Bård didn’t tell me you were visiting,” she commented and frowned to herself, which didn’t go unnoticed by the man.

“I didn’t tell him I was, actually,” Hans clarified simply. “I was hoping to surprise them.”

Maria raised her brows at the remark, fully aware that such a thing was rather unusual when it came to her husband’s parents, but she didn’t say anything. “I am glad I ran into you, then. And _here,_ of all places!” she observed, almost a bit amused at the odd situation.

“Yeah,” the man agreed. “Are you visiting Helene?”

“Actually, no,” Maria admitted honestly, “I wanted to talk to Vegard about something.”

It was Hans’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Oh.”

They shared a look that acknowledged what had just happened. One had caught the other trying to sneak in through the back door.

“Well, you better try to catch him, in that case,” said Hans almost tonelessly. “It looks like he’s planning to go somewhere,” he noted and let his eyes point in the direction of what he was referring to. Right on cue, Vegard could be seen through the large window, carrying a suitcase down the stairs.

Maria appeared bewildered. “Oh,” she echoed as she took in the scene.

“Are they travelling somewhere for work again?” Hans wondered sincerely.

Maria spun her head and locked her eyes with the man. She shook her head. “No,” she replied plainly. “I mean, not that I know of,” she added to correct herself, another frown forming on her lips.

“Wouldn’t you know if Bård was travelling?” asked Hans, part of him selfishly hoping for her to deny it, and thus leave the possibility open that Vegard’s packing was not an expression of something as unthinkable as his two eldest sons running away together, another part concerned for his daughter-in-law.

Maria remained silent for a couple of seconds, feeling caught. She never intended to involve anyone into the unhappiness that had recently characterized her life. “I guess we just haven’t seen much of each other recently. You do know how busy work keeps them,” she tried to shake it off with a laugh, but Hans only appeared even more concerned.

“Is everything okay, Maria?” he didn’t wait to ask. “You do look very tired.” The observation was on target, and the man allowed his suspicions to rise. _Maybe she knows_ , he thought, but then realized that his own mind had been occupied by little else for the past month, and that he was likely too quick to assume that things were connected to the affair between his sons. Perhaps he was simply overthinking it and thus grasping false conclusions.

“Yeah, yeah, everything is fine,” the reply was rushed and the woman’s voice was a pitch higher than usual. “I stayed up with the kids and…”

Hans pursed his lips, unconvinced, his intention to interject unwavering. “You can tell me if you and Bård are having problems. I know how big of a drag my son can be sometimes,” he tried to smile, but the situation felt too serious for him to do so.

Maria shook her head dismally. “We’re alright.” She meant to sound more credible, she really did, but her voice just gave her away.

This time around, the man really smiled, extending an arm forward and placing a supportive hand on Maria’s shoulder. “You know I can’t help you if you don’t tell me about it.”

But what could she tell him? She couldn’t very well share the conversation between herself and Vegard. She thought hard. Perhaps there was some way for her to let him help her; another story that could reason her feelings without actually revealing the fundamental problem. 

When no reply came from his daughter-in-law, Hans stepped out on a ledge and ventured to ask a question that would certainly cover one aspect that concerned him the most. “Does Vegard have anything to do with it?”

Maria’s eyes widened notably, the pupils enlarging and overruling the blue irises, and as her jaw dropped she manager to utter a: “What makes you say that?” In that moment she felt transparent, as though the man could actually hear her thoughts.

“Well even though you won’t admit it, I can see that something isn’t right,” Hans was half-bluffing, and he could feel his body temperature increase, making him sweat, as the subject he most feared seemed to creep over their heads, threatening to swallow them both whole at the moment of acknowledgement. “And then the fact that we ran into each other _here_ ,” he continued, pausing to allow the woman to process what he was saying. After a few silent moment, he spoke some more: “You really can talk to me, Maria. I am only trying to be helpful.”

“Oh my God,” Maria nearly whispered as the realization collapsed upon her. “Vegard has told you as well, hasn’t he?”

Now it was Hans’ turn to again become cautious, inspecting the woman closely in order to find a trace of something—anything that would indicate they had the same thing in mind. In reality it didn’t take him that long to produce a response, but the heavy task of considering the words, and then at last voicing them, felt nearly infinite in length. “I do know what he and Bård have been doing.”

It was a simple statement with many possible explanations, and there was no way Maria would know what exactly he was referring to, were she unaware of the actual situation. But now there was no doubt that Maria knew—Hans saw it spelled all over her face as soon as he had spoken the last words. It was a truth that could not be masked.

It all made sense to Maria just then. Why she had ran into a man who lived miles away, and all the while she was trying to enter someone else’s house unnoticed. Why he had immediately spotted that something was wrong. Why he had been leading the conversation to this exact point—it all made sense. Mister Ylvisåker knew, and he was just checking if he was the only one.

But oh, he wasn’t.

Maria’s hitched breath caught in her throat and she felt like she was suffocating. What now? Goodness, would everyone soon learn about it? She couldn’t brace herself against that thought, such a reality, in which the secret was openly exposed, in which everyone would look at her as the woman who spent her life with a man she never really knew, where people could see that she had failed; that she had failed as both a wife and as a lover, where everyone’s judging eyes would fall, not only on her, but on her children, forcing them to face fierce rivers of mockery, broken off only by rare, fickle islands of pity. She couldn’t even begin to picture such a reality, it was too unbearable to think about, and so she knew what she had to say.

“Please tell me no one else will know.”

It wasn’t just a request, it was a plea; her tone begged the man to take her seriously, to see through her just as easily as he had done only moments previously, to find reason where she had. To keep it quiet.

“Oh God no, Maria, do you seriously think I’d tell anyone?” Hands wondered. But the woman looked so frightened, and as her eyes began to water he knew that all she needed was reassurance, and so swiftly he took her in his arms, stroking her hair as her breathing evened and heartbeat calmed. The comfort felt alien, even though the same issue bonded them.

“I wouldn’t tell a soul,” he reassured her, and she pulled away to give him the most thankful smile. “Of course I wouldn’t want anyone to know!” he declared after a few more moments of thought, almost bewildered that Maria would consider otherwise. “I told them to put a stop to at the moment I found out.”

The woman pursed her lips. “Oh, have you known for a while, then?” she inquired at a loss of anything better to say.

“For a month now,” Hans told her. “They told me it would end when I caught them together, but I’ve been restless. I had to come here and see for myself.”

Maria nodded; she understood. “Vegard told me a week ago,” she mumbled her own explanation sadly. Hans nodded. “I came here to ask for his help. I want to leave Bård—I just can’t stand being around him anymore.”

Hands nodded again. “I can imagine it is difficult.”

That was it—no disapproval, no words to defend his son. Maria had been a part of the family for many years and Hans loved her like a daughter of his own. He couldn’t bear to see her suffer, even if his own child was the cause of her distress.

“It really is,” she all but whispered, looking away in order to keep her composure. “I asked my mum to help me, but she wouldn’t accept that I would leave Bård without a reason after so many years. I didn’t know what to tell her. I couldn’t simply…” she trailed off, but her point was clear.

“I understand,” Hans smiled warmly when she finally met his eye again. He let Maria take a few breaths and regain her composure as he went over what she had told him. “But how could Vegard help you?” he eventually asked.

“I don’t even know,” answered Maria with an almost sarcastic, short laugh. She shrugged. “I really don’t know. He was the one who told me… I guess _he_ should know. All I need is some money to move away and take the kids, a proper apartment close to their school—I don’t know, I just have to do _something_.”

“Maria, if the problem is money, of course I can help you,” the man told her sincerely and quickly, bringing his hand to supportively lean on her shoulder again. “If you are so set on leaving, the least I can do is support you… especially the children.”

The woman bit her lip. She encountered an offer of help where she had least expected it and found herself in a situation she could not afford to refuse it. “Oh, I couldn’t ask so much from you,” she told him dubiously, but the man shook his head.

“Of course you can. I’ll transfer you some money first thing next morning, and please don’t think of it. This situation is a real mess already and it would relieve me personally if I didn’t have to worry about my grandchildren. And besides, who else are you going to ask? _This one_ seems in no shape to help at all,” he reminded her as his gaze flickered through the windows, eyes landing on the suitcase that remained where Vegard had placed it earlier.

They stared at the sight for half a minute.

“Where do you think he’s going?” wondered Maria.

Hans pursed his lips into a thin line and furrowed his forehead. “He isn’t going anywhere, if I have anything to say about it,” he told her a bit too firmly, the possibilities he would not accept regarding what his sons were up to coming back to his head. “I’ll make sure of it,” he added as an afterthought.

Maria’s sparkly eyes shot back to look at the man. “Could I help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope this explains a few things. Two more chapters and an epilogue to go. 
> 
> Please share your thoughts, lovely readers!


	11. Three weeks later

It is often the most obvious things that we cannot see. They float in the air around us, seemingly transparent and quite unnoticeable, their significance barely available when perceived firsthand, but just apparent enough to raise a suspicion that there is something there to be found, a _something_ that we begin to desperately look for. We search and dig through whatever we can get our hands on; half-erased or even imagined details of conversations, old memories, dusty shelves and forgotten drawers.

Or in this particular case, boxes.

It had all fallen into place, just as all things seem to do, eventually. The man beamed as he climbed up the stairs of his attic, squinting his eyes to spot what he was looking for in the dim light. The confidence that he possessed, the certainty that he could figure everything out on his own, had always, to a large extent, been only an arrogance that he knew not how to put to good use.But this time it had fallen right into his hands, and it had fallen the way it should have—perhaps only a bit later than it ought to. Bård couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it earlier.

The amount of fan-mail that the brothers received was ridiculous. The idea to go through it in search of the evidence he’d so randomly concluded could be found there came out of the blue, but he was proud of himself for even considering the possibility that he could perhaps, at last, put an end to this entire trial. His feet felt lighter as he had propped himself up, abandoning his constant, unmoving position by the tiny flicker of hope. Hope, that he could be one to solve everything in the end. It took him an hour only to go through what he had at home, finding the numerous letters stuffed in an old, big box his wife had found and sorted. He’d never done as much as looked at the mail himself, actually, only opening some gifts and envelopes that fell into his eye before his wife put them away during his years of fame. And then there were the boxes he had in his office… and Vegard’s. Oh, what he believed would be a few hours of search turned into a long, tiring day.

But he did it. He found every single letter addressed to either him, Vegard or both, from a girl named Elmine.

 

_Dear Bård,_

_I hope you like my present. I actually found it on sale, but it was such a bargain! Not that I wouldn’t have bought it if it wasn’t on sale, of course. Whatever reminds me of you has no price. Thinking of you makes my every day brighter and I hope you know how much some people are affected by what you do. Especially me._

_All my love,_

_your biggest fan, Elmine_

Bård didn’t remember the package that the note had come along with, but he didn’t care. Folding the tiny sheet as he had found it originally, he went on to open an envelope that hadn’t even been touched previously. A blue one.

 

_Bård and Vegard,_

_I was in the first row of the last episode of I kveld med Ylvis. You guys were spectacular. You ARE spectacular. I’ve been dying to meet you, so I was super disappointed when you guys escaped so quickly after the show ended, there was a bunch of girls who had gathered to meet you. We all were sad. I hope you will read this and give us a chance to talk to you the next time we come to see you live. My friend actually got a picture with you the other day. I am jealous, of course, but I am sure I will get one as well. If I can catch you around sometimes, that is! You are always in a rush when I am around. I guess it’s just my luck. I know you are nice and dedicated to your fans. I suppose sometimes it’s just too easy to feel excluded._

_I was the girl who left cookies in the mail for you, by the way. I hope you got and liked them. I actually baked them myself, although I am no cook, but I felt like I should give back. You have given me so much joy and happiness in my life that I don’t know how to thank you enough. You make me laugh every day. Keep on being brilliant._

_With love,_

_Elmine_

It was at that point, when Bård read that letter, that he thought that he should probably search his e-mail for any more traces of the fan. He was fairly certain that it was the same Elmine who’d been called as a witness on the last trial and even more so, the name rang familiarity elsewhere. She must have tried to contact him through some Internet-site, he figured. But as soon as he had started up his computer and the operative system had loaded, he realized that it was a rather ridiculous thing to do, to search for every single word she had written instead of focusing on those that bore a potential to be important. Those he was certain existed. There were hundreds of unopened messages on his accounts he would have to go through and it simply wasn’t worth the effort. Sighing as he shut the lap top closed, he sprung to his feet and returned to the physical letters. He knew the words he was searching for had to be _somewhere_. At that point, he began to regret not being a more organized person. Rubbing his eyes in order to stay awake, he continued reading.

It would have been so much easier if he could sort them chronologically, all the envelopes he selected, but that was an effort he was unwilling to put in. Instead, he struggled with creating a timeline in his own head.

 

_Dearest Bård Ylvisåker,_

_I have to admit that I don’t know what to say. This is the first time I have ever thought about writing to you and I am not even sure that you read the letters your fans send you. Maybe some, I guess, and I hope I get lucky enough that this one gets opened._

_Oh, how to begin. I’m sure you’d be able to make a funny joke if you saw the amount of papers I started writing on, scratched over and then threw away. And I would most definitely laugh if you did._

_I can imagine how silly it must feel to get written to so often by people who feel they know you, but you’ve never even met. Or if you have, you don’t remember who they are. I can imagine how different it is from your perspective, but then again it can’t be too bad to be so loved and appreciated. I’m sure I personally would never object. But if you were so touched by someone as I am by you, wouldn’t you want to let them know? I guess it may be hard to process how someone can pour their heart out to you, despite you never having even met them, and on a piece of paper like this, too, but I have a feeling that if we met and talked, maybe you’d feel the same way I do._

_You see, I feel so connected to you; to such an extent that I can’t possibly shake the feeling. I don’t know what to do about it. I thought it would go away after a while, but it’s been over a year and every time it begins to fade away, I see a new video or a picture of you and it comes back to me. I feel like I’ve known you all my life, like a part of my soul is close to yours and that our lives have made it difficult for us to meet. But, then I found you on TV and the internet, and it’s like destiny, like I was actually meant to stumble upon you and follow what you do like the most dedicated fan. I could have come across any other celebrity and loved them just as much, but for some reason, it was you who came into my life. And you’ve influenced it so much. You’ve made me think about all these things, made me reconsider my choices and wonder what it would have been like if I’d never discovered Ylvis. You’re simply a part of my life now and it’s so unimaginable to go on without you._

_I hope this isn’t too confusing, nor too silly. I felt it best if I shared it with someone, especially with you because it is all about you. If you read this, I hope you are at least a little bit curious about who I am and what I have to say. Don’t you want to meet me and see if you feel the same way? This feeling is so rare and uncommon and therefore very precious. I am sure you can see my point._

_I’ve written my number, my address and my e-mail in hopes that if you read this, you could maybe contact me somehow. Whichever way you prefer. Please?_

_With sincere love,_

_Elmine_

It was all coming back to him, the few letters he remembered reading—even some e-mails—how _intense_ the girl had been. He almost sighed with relief when his suspicions were proven correct, that it was the same fan who had so voluntarily walked up on the stand and spoke to defend Bård. He washed down further relief when the name matched with the note he had been looking for all along.

_Bård,_

_Did you get my tiny notes?_

_The unsigned ones._

_Elmine_

 

Of course, he could only assume which notes it could be, but it wasn’t too difficult of a guess for the man. He dug out a few blue envelopes in hopes of anything that could indicate that she was the person who killed, but most contained the exact same pleas for a meeting he had already read.

 

_Bård and Vegard,_

_Here’s a gift you both deserve. Maybe a dozen red roses is very cliché, but I believe my favorite two people in the entire world will like it anyway._

_Thank you for the picture and the autographs (although you probably don’t remember when we met yesterday),_

_Elmine_

 

Bård scrunched up his nose, feeling a little distressed to be blamed for something that was beyond his immediate control. Both he and Vegard were only doing their job, after all. Could a fan seriously hold such a grunge at their inability to actually remember every single fan of the thousands they met? Surely, sometimes it was quite obvious when they met the same person a second time, and then they shamelessly bluffed, pretending to already know them, but it was just another branch of the job of being famous. What did this girl expect? Bård felt his insides cringe at all the words he had just read, realizing that perhaps the girl truly felt the way she had claimed to. Like he was _really_ supposed to befriend her, or something of the sort.

Of course, he could understand. He was also a fan of many people, but having his job, he knew how pointless it actually was to meet those he admired on TV or on the radio as he drove the car to work. What could a person truly gain from such a situation? He failed to locate an answer. Nevertheless, he believed he truly did try his best to please every person, as well as he could, who praised his previous and secured his further success. After all, both him and Vegard were thankful people, to be where they were and do exactly they they wanted to. But there were lines that could be crossed, and these blue-enveloped letters seemed to be very good at stepping over them and walking too far across the border of what could be expected of two comedians.

 

_My dear Bård,_

_I tried sending you e-mails but it seems like you don’t read those either. I don’t know if you’ve read any of the letters I have sent you, because I’m sure I’d be hearing from you if you did. I mean can I be sure? I thought you would at least be intrigued enough to give me a chance. I promise you, it’s worth it. If we could just meet, even for ten minutes, I promise it’s going to be worthwhile and you will see all the things I’ve been telling you about. And if you are reading this and have no idea what I am talking about, look up all the letters from Elmine. They’re all in blue envelopes, I’m sure it’s not too difficult to find them. And call me, write to me… anything._

_And if you can’t, I’ll be waiting outside the theater every day until you talk to me._

_Your Elmine_

 

Bård’s eyes almost glistened with excitement. He couldn’t believe it. _What a fucking idiot I’ve been,_ he ruminated wistfully, finding it difficult to cope with the fact that it had taken him so long to think of this. Of the stupid threat he and Vegard had received. Or well, certainly, it hadn’t exactly been a threat, but more of a warning. Or something. Bård could not properly interpret the full meaning, but he was sure the police would be more creative and determined. As he compared the scrunched up note to the rest of the letters, the author of the eerie words was quite evident.

  _I know your secret._

The last word was smudged a little, but the characteristic way the letter ‘e’ (it almost looked like a 'c') was drawn left little doubt that the same person had written it.

 _Put an end to it_ , it said on the other side.

He remembered that note too well. He remembered the pure terror that captivated Vegard’s expression when he read it.

Folding out the even more scrunched up piece of paper, that had thankfully remained in the same pocket of the jacket Bård had worn the day of the murder, he almost laughed when it was, again, the same handwriting. Although the letters were a bit bolder and larger this time around, the similarities were obvious. Oh, it had been so damn easy all along. And she herself had announced that she was at the crime-scene around the same time everything had happened. Bård felt incredibly silly for not making the connection earlier.

_Bård, if you don’t put a stop to what you and Vegard are doing and meet me, I will tell everyone. You should take me seriously this time. You don’t know what I am capable of._

The man grinned to himself. This was it. Exactly what he should had been looking for weeks previously. Picking up his keys, he realized he could never feel so happy to drive to a police station.

What followed was procedures and considerations he barely took interest in, as the police marveled at the evidence and excelled at connecting everything to the girl. At first it had been a little controversial, after all the fan had been first and foremost a witness in the trial of a murder that was now so strongly connected to her, but the detectives were smart men who knew how to do their job. And at last, it could finally be a job well done.

Only a few kilometers away and a day later, the very same girl who had written all those letters was getting ready to go to bed. She brushed her hair absent-mindedly as she stared at her own reflection in the mirror. She had turned nineteen only a day previously, but as she inspected every detail of her face closely, she felt she looked older than that. More mature, if anything. Old enough for Bård. Was it ridiculous of her to think that after this huge tragedy he would be looking for someone new to share his life with? He would just _have_ to turn to her, at last.

A persistent chain on rings on her door bell made her jump up and open up the door. Two policemen greeted her.

“Miss Elmine Arnsen, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Vegard Ylvisåker,” the older of the two announced in a toneless voice, already walking up behind her, preparing to cuff her hands before the girl could even process what was happening. “You have the right to remain silent, if you give up this right anything you say can and will be used as evidence against you in a court of law. You have the right to seek representation. If you can't afford a lawyer, one will be appointed to you.”

It was words that were spoken loud and clear, but the dim feeling of the receiving end was apparent.

They asked her if she was aware of these rights, but Elmine felt as though she had gone deaf, or rather as if she was about to faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me now.
> 
> I've got another chapter and the epilogue, and I sincerely hope you guys will stick with me for a while longer. There is a bit more to come. ;)
> 
> Have I managed to surprise anyone? ^^


	12. Three months earlier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, it's been quite a while, I know. It took me a long time to finish this chapter, and my countless exams and emotional-crisis kept on getting in the way. But at last, I'm satisfied with the way this chapter turned out. I hope you'll still be happy to read and enjoy it!

The first slither of the sun peeked over the skyline as the horizon begun to bleed golden fire, raining it upon the land stretching before it, making promises of fair weather. The previous couple of days had been misty and rainy, however now, it was time for a change. Happiness was slowly crawling its way in and demanded to be acknowledged, and something as insignificant as a bad day would not stand in its way. After all, it had been too long since either of the brothers had felt truly happy.

As the sun revealed itself in full, its edges seemed to blur, spreading across the sky, in direct contrast to Bård‘s contracting pupils, almost as if its full glory was not meant for his eyes. A light breeze picked up and lifted to where he was standing, caressing his face and tenderly picking up loose strands in his hair. He stood there for an undefinable amount of moments, taking the scenery in and embracing his feelings. It was as though he could sense all his love radiating in the air around him; as though it was the only thing that was truly real and important in his entire existence. The love for Vegard. But even in his naïvety, he made sure to remind himself that life was only as meaningful as he could fool himself into believing it to be, and so he allowed himself to be fully convinced that there was nothing bigger left for him to discover. He had absolutely everything a man could ever want. What he wanted was asleep soundly in the bed they shared.

Truly lucky, that’s what he was. To have had that which he most wanted, his soulmate, placed where he was bound to have stumbled upon, where he did not even have to, and would never have thought to actively look, to have re-discovered his brother in a way he still had trouble accepting or even acknowledging. It was tough, certainly; how could it not be, for him to so gladly go to his brother’s bed? As difficult of a transition in their relationship as it had been, however, it was an even heavier weight to know that this could only go either forward or downhill. A weight that added on inconspicuously and subtly, as they floated on in their own little reality.

Bård stopped to ask himself, was it courage to step away from what you love or to pursue it? He could not know the correct answer, because there obviously wasn’t one. There were options and conclusions, each reliable in its own way and, more importantly, different for every individual. He did, however, feel courageous, to have entered a relationship so complex, to have given his heart to one of the people in the world who was least likely to accept it, and to have his feelings fully matched. It could only be described as near-impossible luck.

Perhaps it was merely the fact that the mutuality of their feelings gave them the illusion of control, making them believe that they actually had a say in what went on. That illusion was sufficient to give the brothers enough confidence to pursue their desires. And that was all it took. Their love bloomed and blossomed on its own, going into a roll that quickly gaining momentum until they were both caught by it. Perhaps it just made them feel less like animals when they fooled themselves in believing they had the whole thing in their hands.

Bård was happy, whether by luck or by self-deception did not matter.

The old floorboards in the cabin they had rented made squeaky noises as Bård dragged his lazy feet over them, heading towards the kitchen. Inside, he was quick to gather the ingredients he required to make his brother breakfast. At first he had intended to make pancakes, but he’d decided against it. Surely he had a hand at cooking, but in times like these he was self-aware enough not to give himself too much credibility. He wanted this weekend away to be perfect. Burnt food would certainly jeopardize his wish. Instead he settled on preparing sandwiches, a dish partially salvageable were he to completely screw it up. He was smiling and humming a random melody to himself as he chopped the fresh tomatoes, and then he placed them on slices of bread and added some cheese. A few bits of meat and the food was ready. It was nothing luxurious, certainly; Bård was aware, but the brothers didn’t need much more than each other. And that they already had.

He also brewed some coffee, and once it was ready he took hold of the two steaming mugs and headed towards the bedroom where his brother was still blissfully in his dreams. The steps he took were tiny, and he opened the door using his elbow, very carefully so in his vague attempt to minimize any sounds, and although it was not a loud action, it was enough for Vegard to flutter his eyelids open only barely and acknowledge the new day and new presence. Bård walked towards the bed, partially guilty to have awoken the man but even more so glad to have him up at last, and as soon as his brother smelled the beverage, his lips curled upwards and he let out a small sound of gratitude. Neither of the two Ylvisåkers had ever been particularly fond of caffeine, but after the long night of love-making and the even longer day ahead of them, its effects were very much welcome.

Bård placed the mugs on the bedside table and slowly sat down next to Vegard, who was laying all stretched out on his stomach. Their eyes met for a brief second, huge beams spreading all over their faces. When Vegard shut his eyes once more, Bård waited a moment and then brought his fingers down and tangled them in the dark curls of his brother. Vegard’s smile widened and without hesitation he cupped his brother’s hand, holding it there, squeezing it lightly and affectionately. It was a small, but sweet gesture, but also certainly grand in the aspect that it could not be repeated very often, as every forbidden physical portrayal of romantic affection between the two brothers was.

“I made us breakfast,” Bård announced a little bit proudly, as though they were children once again, and he had accomplished something huge and unheard of.

Vegard chuckled sweetly. “Did you, now?”

He could sense his brother’s immense happiness, perhaps he even reciprocated it to a good extent; it was quite unusual for the younger brother to be up and about before the older one, to begin with.

“Yeah,” Bård answered needlessly, and Vegard let go of his hand. Within moments, he’d risen and stretched his arms back as far as they would go; all means to waken properly. His neck made a cracking noise as he rotated it. From his peripheral vision he could see Bård looking away, staring at a blank point ahead and grinning to himself. The sight was pleasant, and before he’d realized it himself, Vegard had circled his arms around his brother from the back, holding him tightly as he buried his face into the other’s neck. He placed his mouth flush against the soft, warm skin, planting a loving kiss at the tender spot. Bård made a tiny noise of satisfaction.

They stood in the position for a while, until Vegard drew back. The silence was calming and awfully pleasant, and they could survive it indefinitely, but time was running short and to make the best of it, they could not very well just sit there and stare at one another lovingly. “Shall we eat, then?” he prompted enthusiastically, and Bård jumped to his feet in immediate effect.

“Let’s sit outside,” he offered, and his brother agreed silently, grabbing the two mugs of coffee on his way.

Their steps were synchronized as they made their way to the tiny garden that had a set of benches and a table in the middle, Bård carrying the plates with the food he had made. They picked their spots so that they would face one another, settling calmly, inhaling the cool air that had them both feeling refreshed and a bit more awake. They silently sipped on their coffee and chewed on their food, allowing the feeling of completeness occupy the air they were breathing.

“You know,” it was Vegard who broke the silence after a short while; “I like this. This is really nice.” He made a pause there, but the space he intentionally left for a witty joke or a silly response passed unnoticed by the other, and when his brother would not add anything despite it, he continued in his low tone. “It feels like I’m on a different planet now, temporarily away from everything, doing nothing important and just… _being_ , you know. It’s just perfect.”

His brother nodded his agreement, lips curled upwards, forming images in his head based on the words he was hearing. Just the two of them, nothing and no one else to think about… it was truly something to dream of. He let out a sigh of contentment. His eyes darted towards the green forest around them, although it was not what he most wished to look at, but he felt that somehow he needed to memorize as many details as he could from the day, so more things would later on remind him of this feeling in his chest. A feeling he knew so well and yet could rarely, and quite unfortunately so, say it inhibited him so fully.

His head snapped back to look at the dark-haired man.

“I could only do this with you—be like this with you,” Vegard added quietly after a short while, suddenly looking away; Bård could swear his cheeks got redder.

He had no response. He waited for his brother to meet his eye again, but in vain, and when he realized that, he very thoughtlessly got on his feet and sat down next to Vegard. The man shifted his gaze, but still not looking in the eye of the other.

“You know I feel exactly the same way,” the younger one stated gently, matter-of-factly. He knew this was no time to shy away from his emotions and leave them unvoiced. If there ever had been time and place for them to be displayed, this was the exact such case. “I think it’s alright.”

Vegard’s eyes found their way to lock with his. “It’s _alright_?” he cited dubiously.

With a smile, Bård nodded. “Very much so,” he assured his older brother, suddenly feeling the need to comfort the man, and when the unconvinced expression remained on the man’s face, Bård brought his right hand up and let his fingers brush loosely over the lightly blush-touched skin. “Doesn’t it feel alright, Vegard?”

There were a few moments of silence, moments which they used to speak with their eyes, and when their lips touched after a few of those, the question was answered irrevocably.

“Do you remember when you came home from your eighteenth birthday party?”

Bård cocked his brow and observed his brother’s expression to make more out of the random question. “Maybe?” he allowed after a while.

Vegard laughed sweetly. “You don’t, do you?”

Again the younger man took his time, debating between answers. He could not as of yet pick up the point in the conversation, if the was such at all. “Am I supposed to?”

“I guess not,” answered Vegard with another chuckle. “I’d actually be surprised if you did, on second thought. The amount you’d drunk—“

“Well it was my _eighteenth_ birthday!”

Vegard scoffed. “What an excuse! _I_ didn’t get hammered on _my_ eighteenth birthday!”

“Like hell you didn’t!”

“I did _not_!”

“Vegard, when the cab dropped you off in front of our home, you headed towards the house next door and Calle had to get off the cab and walk you all the to the front door!”

Vegard’s jaw had dropped and he was looking at this brother with eyes completely wide, utterly bewildered.

“It happened, alright!” Bård insisted when he could barely withhold his chuckles.

By that point Vegard had covered his eyes in embarrassment, his cheeks completely flushed. “My God,” came his muffled response and he shook his head to himself. Bård was laughing.

“If you’ve got a story that can top that, then please, be my guest and tell me what is it that I don’t remember doing,” said he, at the prime of his confidence boost. He did not even flicker when Vegard’s head shot up, face decorated by a smug smile.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” the older man’s voice was light and almost soft.

Bård shook his head dismally.

“Alright,” acknowledged Vegard, and took a deep breath. “Right. Ah… You came home with Maria,” began Vegard and then paused to note his brother’s smirk, and he cleared his throat before continuing; “And, um, well… I was asleep, I didn’t know that, I just assume that’s what happened because the next morning I caught her trying to sneak out unnoticed by our parents. Anyway, it was three or four after midnight, and you burst into my room, all drunk as you were, and then just slumped into my bed. Completely freaked me out,” he emphasized, which only earned him ‘tsk’ and a view of eyes being rolled. “And when I tried to shush you out, you insisted that there was more room for you in my bed than yours, and then you just threw up all over by bed sheets.”

Bård’s brows shot up and he contained a chuckle. “Alright, that’s kinda… embarrassing, I admit.”

The older man huffed a laugh himself and grabbed hold of his brother’s hand. Their fingers intertwined. “That wasn’t my point.”

“So what are you trying to say is that telling this pointless story has a point?” provoked Bård with a smirk.

It was Vegard’s turn to roll his eyes at his brother’s silliness. He didn’t mind it, though; not in the slightest. “My point was that, it was in that moment that I realized I no longer had to feel obliged to look after you. My little brother had grown up, you know. Not that it actually did anything though—I’ve always looked after you anyway, but ever since this… _thing_ started between us, it’s like I no longer have to do that.”

The younger man was listening intently and hummed to signify just that, but he had nothing to say or do but give Vegard’s fingers an affectionate squeeze.

“You’re rarely late for anything recently, at least not annoyingly so, and you help me out with the less interesting aspects of our job, which is a great relief,” Vegard went on to elaborate. “I’ve been feeling more calm, less stressed, and I just wanted to let you know that I’ve noticed what you do for me. That I really appreciate it.”

There was a smile now on Bård’s face, and in truth, he had barely done any of those things his brother just noted purposefully. Completely happy and satisfied, he leaned in for a long and lingering kiss, and when they pulled away from one another, he whispered: “Maybe it’s my turn to take care of you, don’t you think?”

Quite speechless, Vegard smiled, and before his brother could notice the tears that were welling up in his eyes, he shut them tight, springing forward and hugging Bård tightly who, chuckling lightly, returned the embrace at full capacity.

“I could be the manly man out of the two of us, you know,” he joked lightly.

Vegard pulled away only slightly, just so their gazes could lock. “Oh, you wish. You wouldn’t survive a month if I wasn’t there to look after you.”

“True,” concurred the other man, “but I could still bring you flowers to thank you for that. And that’s really manly, you know.”

Vegard scoffed. “Please don’t ever bring me flowers.”

“You want me to, admit it. You want those flowers.”

“No, I don’t!”

Bård shut him up with another peck.

“One day, brother,” began he, seriously; “one day I will shower you in roses.”

Vegard shook his head at the stubbornness, but before he had a chance to retort, his lips were caught in a kiss that went on for a long time.

Talking about feelings had never been a favorite pastime for either of the brothers, but at last they had found their way around it which had them happy and completely unable to get enough of each other. Both of them offered to cook the next meal, perhaps simply because each wanted to do something for the other, but in the end it didn’t matter, because they put their time into other activities that brought them much more pleasure than cooking or eating ever could.

Hours later, cuddled up in the soft, green grass, the watched the sun take the day away, making a promise to never allow anything to ruin this precious thing the both felt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is the last one. We've just got the epilogue, which I promise will be up in a week or two.   
> Any thoughts? :)


	13. Epilogue

The young girl Elmine was sent to prison for murder, where she’d spend the next twenty-five years of her life. She was given no chance for parole, a sentence that had a lot to do only with the fact that she had killed one of the country’s most favorite people.

The family of the deceased exhaled their sighs of relief when it was all announced—albeit many tears were still being shed—as though somehow they finally got closure. Their son, brother, husband and father had been brutally taken away for what in the end was concluded to be jealousy, and the knowledge that the guilty would be placed behind bars was little and yet plenty consolation. What else could be done, really? The damage was already made.

The parents and youngest brother were joined in a hug which seemed to last an infinity, and the wife held on to her children tightly who, quite too young, had trouble understanding that this time around, their daddy was not going to return home. Nevertheless, the drowsy atmosphere was enough to have them both weep in confusion.

Bård Ylvisåker rose from his seat in the courtroom and, as he was not on good terms with anyone in his family yet, despite the grief they shared, he headed outside alone. The fresh air felt ironically nauseating, but then again, the case was such with just about anything in his present state. He could not come to terms with reality, and although he had spent so much time locked up in his home, he had yet to find pleasure in facing the real world. He was in between things as he so often seemed to be recently. A part of him felt as though he could at last breathe again now that the trial had come to an end, but then another part reminded him that he had absolutely no idea where things would nor where he wanted them to go from now on. His life really did seem pointless without the person he had shared everything with. But oh, what could be done?

For the moment, though, he just needed to sit down.

As he walked towards the nearest bench, he came to recognize the blonde head of the man who was already sitting there. For the briefest of seconds he debated whether he’d be welcome, one if his most recent and unusual insecurities, but he decided that he had nothing to lose if he tried. When he reached the target, he very silently placed himself next to his friend, who accepted the new presence gladly, much to Bård’s relief.

“Hey,” said Calle in an undecided tone.

The other man nodded, and when their eyes met, Calle went on to take a long drag of his halfway burnt out cigarette.

“How are you holding up?” asked the older man needlessly. The answer was visible.

Bård shrugged; he was aware he looked as bad as he felt. “I don’t know,” he mumbled honestly. “I guess I’m… not… not really holding up at all.”

Calle hummed his understanding.

They didn’t change their position for a long while. Each men fell into his own thoughts while Calle chain-smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, but they both felt grateful for the company. It was a first in a long time that Bård felt like talking; he wished to speak whichever one of those many thoughts that fumbled in his head, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready, nor if it was the right way to act in the given situation. He took a deep breath and turned to gaze steadily at a patch of air somewhere in the vicinity of Calle’s left ear.

“He would have laughed, you know,” he said suddenly, and then shut his mouth with a snap. He could feel his cheeks coloring. Now that he was on the spot, he had no idea how to form his words properly.  _Shit, I should have rehearsed something._ He felt a tinge of guilt, wondering if his friend only wished to escape him as much as his entire family seemed to want to.

Calle twitched a little uncomfortably, but still turned his head towards his friend and flashed an encouraging smile. “Yeah?”

Bård shook his head affirmatively. He was grateful at the effort Calle seemed to be putting into the small talk. “Yeah. Killed by a fan… John Lennon style,” he went on to elaborate; he couldn’t help himself from chuckling lightly, as odd of a sound as it was in his own ears. “Vegard would have loved it. Such a story. It definitely made the front page… among other things,” he finished with a taut expression. He tried to seem at least a bit cheerful, but his act betrayed him. It was the first time he had spoken his brother’s name since he’d died, and he was well aware of the fact. He couldn’t say it made anything feel any different, though. It was just the name of the person he loved the most and was gone, after all. Just a name now.

Calle understood the joke, but that didn’t mean he knew how to react. “Probably,” he mumbled eventually, forcing a smile to his lips that turned out odd and crooked.

The younger man nodded.

“I think it’s time I head off, now,” announced Calle as the air between the men was becoming awkward, and then slowly got up to his feet. “Maybe I could give you a ride?” he offered, despite the knowledge that the two of them would rather be on their own for a while.

When no reply would come, Calle shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Will you be okay?” he couldn’t help himself but ask.

“I’ll be alright,” Bård stated against all available evidence; even his eyes were glassy and slightly unfocused.

What followed was silence. Suddenly, before any more words could be exchanged, Bård got up as well, and with simultaneous nods, the men parted. Bård returned to the court, walking down the long, wide corridors without turning his head to any passing stranger until he reached the restroom. He pulled open one of the surprisingly intimidating doors only to be greeted by his own reflection. The room was otherwise deserted, so much that the echoes of his footsteps sounded eerie. He stepped closer to the mirror and inspected himself carefully. He took a deep breath. When he closed his eyes, it was as though Vegard was right there next to him, smiling and just being.

Bård began to reflect upon the life they’d had, but he mainly focused on the most simple and yet complicated aspect of their relationship, or rather—their love. That was all he could focus on recently, after all. How if he could turn back the clock, he’d do so many things more differently, he would have acted upon his feelings much earlier on and he would have given his all to be a better man, whatever it was that would have made Vegard happier. But did do all he could, didn’t he? At least he tried to fix things. He would have never let anything destroy what they had, that special bond that was so rare and incredible. He’d made that clear, certainly. He most dedicatedly fought to save their love. And there was really only one thing to it, in the end, that Bård concluded; that the destructor of their relationship deserved punishment.

When Bård reopened his eyes, he could see the tears that had welled up there; it was all there, in his reflection, trying to escape his eye-lashes. All the pain and suffering that had him numb and void for so long now.

Above all of the memories that flooded his brain stood the most recent one, of how Vegard wanted to leave and crush their little world, of how he had completely ruined everything they had and even more so what they could have had. Boiling anger overwhelmed Bård. Why had Vegard been so selfish? And how, how in the name of their entire lives together could he have done that? Looking at his taut self in the mirror, Bård allowed one single, twisted smile. A smile of satisfaction, that he had been the one who had stood behind his word till the end, that he had indeed done all he deemed necessary to have their precious memories left as they were—untouched; at least that, if there could be no new ones. _And I even got away with it,_ came his bittersweet thought.

When a single teardrop rolled down his cheek, he furiously wiped it away. It was time he began to learn how to live with what he had done, although the excuses he held so close were running short. And it hurt, it hurt a lot. Him, everyone. In the end, he realized that life just went on and on, and it did not depend on his choices and wrongdoings. He realized that if he would only want it hard enough, he could believe and live in a world that he held closest to his heart, and all he ever needed to do was let go, even when he had taken away what most made him happy on his own. He didn’t know how or when he would find it in him to do it, but he knew he wanted to. Things had to look up. And that was all that kept him going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, dear readers, I bow out.
> 
> As self-conscious as I am for ending it so simply, I hope you enjoyed my little story nevertheless. I want to thank each person who took their time to read it. It really does mean the world to me, as writing this story has meant just as much. And of course, thank you for all the kudos and comments that kept me motivated to sit down and write!


End file.
